Back to Nargothrond
by mistAndStarlight
Summary: Alternative history. Sauron has lost Tol Sirion to Finrod, but has read Beren's mind. Beren and Finrod have returned to Nargothrond and met Luthien. Their journey awaits them, while Finrod finally knows what he's been preparing against. (Style: something like steampunk.) (Rating: T, as blood is spilled and servants of Morgoth have their ways with language.)
1. Back to Nargothrond

"And so he left Tol Sirion for the other shore - with orcs running before him and the bridge crumbling in his footsteps. Myself on the other hand... I told the island that it was free to go, that it had fulfilled its promises and need make no more effort. After what the nameless one had accomplished there, I felt the island respond with relief. Maybe it will last a year, perhaps even a decade... but its will to stand is broken. Sand will leave first, ice will pry rocks apart, land will shift underneath and Tol Sirion as we knew it will crumble."

"I cannot thank you enough, Findarato", Luthien added, having heard what had passed at the island.

At that, Beren added.

"And please, permit me to give back your ring. My heirs, if there be any, won't be needing it. Your balance with my father is more than settled now, for without your presence, I would have hardly reached the river unharmed by countless orcs. Had I reached it, I could not have hidden myself from that creature nor his servants, nor could I have turned back and fled. It would have been my death, and nothing fast or heroic. The way he crushed my and our companions' will with mere words, it still shakes me. Do you really know him of old times? What kind of magic have you learnt that made it possible for you to fight him off?"

"I'd have fallen too, just slower. All that mattered was that the island knew me and the river trusted my word. I had spoken with them often, had been their friend for long. I had designed the bridges and built a lot that still withstood. The only card I could play that he could not match and raise agaist, was the off chance of the island agreeing to break and the river agreeing to flood. As for the magic, you need not look far... to find a way to its source."

He'd have done well in card games, Beren thought... for not a glimpse of a gesture pointed...

"You learnt it from my mother?"

"Lady Melian has taught many a skill to people. It was no accident that your father, whom they then called Elwë, found her song beautiful enough to declare his love for her, without even seeing her at that point. I am likewise hopeful that she's taught a few of her skills to you."

She blushed a bit, not like humans but a tiny bit of color flickered here and there.

"She has. I have practised a bit and liked singing as a cheerful passtime... but only recently has it dawned to me what consequences word can effect in dire situations. That point of view remained hidden to me, for nothing dire dared to approach my parents' wood. Now that we must walk the open road with Beren, things are different."

"But how are your plans? Would you like to remain for longer, or does that road call you soon? On my part, you can remain in Nargothrond as long as suits your needs. A journey such as yours may benefit from careful planning."

They exchanged a glance and Finrod, remembering his sister, wondered if the glance contained words. Then Luthien spoke.

"From what I understand, the creature Sauron read Beren's mind, and may have read more."

Beren confirmed. "I felt his presence in my mind incredibly invasive, and he knows about our task. It would only be prudent to guess that he knows about you, about your parents, about Nargothrond and its defenses, and every detail of my plan... but none of yours."

"He likely has excellent memory too", Finrod added. "I knew him and admired his skill, back in Valinor. He worked in Aule's household, if that factory of everything can fairly be called a household. To say it all, he was Aule's right hand in most demanding jobs, and appeared to trace a rising path so fast and colorful that I had difficulty explaining to myself how I should not feel envy but joy. After all, if someone does complete with excellence what you merely planned to try, then effort has been spared for other works."

"Mother has mentioned him in passing. I will not make the mistake of underestimating that person."

Finrod added that Sauron would likely have messengers at call. Birds, bats and other flying creatures were likely amenable to his persuasive word. If he deemed the plan serious, which he would now after losing his fort, he would send word to the dark king. After word reached Angband, dim indeed would be any hope. Finrod advised them to abandon their plan. He cared for his friends and didn't want them to die.

They agreed to meet again tomorrow morning, as thought is clear at sunrise. Dinner was finished and Finrod needed to attend urgent matters. Beren wondered how many of those included compiling lists of what Sauron could have pillaged from his mind and could exploit for ill. Doubtless Finrod had feathered messengers too, and some would find their services sought now. He leant back on a big armchair more worthy of being called bed, with Luthien on his lap. Halfway between wakefulness and sleep, he wondered again how one so cute and relatively diminutive was more capable of swimming among sharks than he among minnows.

"What was your plan, Beren? Tell me as much as you can."

"I will... but hear me please on two matters first... I wish to know your thoughts about them, though I recall we talked of this before my misadventure."

"Of course. Things change..."

"First of all, I have this faint but realistic feeling that Finrod is right. That some creature of Sauron has already reached Angband and told his king everything he needs to spring a trap against us, maybe even attack Nargothrond."

"He is currently spread thin, attacking Nargothrond would come later in his plans. But traps he loves, and perhaps on some level, the entirety of his rampage in Valinor was a provocation, an invitation to descend to his level, and a trap for anyone who might follow. Feanor he knew, and for all his skill in crafts and knowledge of the world, Feanor's personality was uncompromising and direct."

"You think it was a planned invitation for Feanor to follow in pursuit?"

"There certainly was a plan, and hard-negotiated at that, which failed in the end. In the end, after double-crossing that spider, Morgoth himself needed saviours - his gang of demons and that ever-watchful Sauron. To believe that there was a single plan to extinguish or steal all light, would do no justice to his ability. Even in madness, he is a spirit whom many would call god. Perhaps his only disadvantage is his habit of forcing his will without stopping to think. But let's leave this for later, it's rather depressing. You had some second matter?"

"For me, life has contained very little to lose... and during that time I have lived reckless. I have taken many chances... a mortal with nothing to lose is liable to act so. We either die trying... or die anyway, almost as quick from your viewpoint. Perhaps the only things which stop us being rash are family and friends, people who need us and obligations we have."

"You mean to say that you cannot now be as daring now as you have been before."  
"I mean to say it somehow. And surely you guess the reason."

"I guess and understand. I can tell you something of elves in return. You see, there is a belief... perhaps an unfounded belief for most, but well-founded for those informed of it first-hand, which I am not... that even when we get ourselves killed, we don't die properly. Instead we get mopped up by Namo and spend the rest of eternity in his somewhat less than fashionable halls for the dead... unless it gets crowded or we are deemed healed, in which case we get dumped straight on the streets of Valinor. So don't worry, we do live reckless when excrement hits the fast-spinning wheel." (He smiled at the attempt of taking over human styles in humor.) "My biggest concern is exactly that. There have been no observations of mortals hanging out in the halls of the dead. Where the dwarves sleep their so-called long sleep, nobody knows. Where your people's spirits go, or whether they go anywhere at all, I cannot tell. I cannot believe they disappear entirely, for it runs counter to all my intuition as your equal... it bothers me so much that I'd be ready to beat the answer out of Morgoth if I only could, but I doubt he has it, and if he did he'd lie. But in the worst case, maybe we aren't equal and cannot walk together. After what happens between us here, in this life here and now... it could be that our fates go apart forever. Perhaps to nothingness, perhaps to eternity, but alone. I think we are already doomed, are we not? The only question might be - what do we make of this?"

Beren didn't know what to say. He had no first-hand information from Valinor. He had barely an idea of what Namo was, for his people had entertained different beliefs, which he personally didn't want to offend and throw by the wayside, but couldn't take seriously any more.

The fact that elves were not only twice as light (he could carry Luthien on one arm) and twice as strong (she could carry Beren on one arm), could hear an orc sneeze a mile away on a quiet night, and cross that mile unheard at three times human speed... and had practically indestructible spirits... had fallen on him out of the blue during his friendship and falling in love with Luthien, and he was not only sure of her sincerity, but the quality of her sources.

He just hugged her and while it felt good, and he hoped it felt likewise to her... he didn't know an answer worth saying.

* * *

They seriously considered things that night. Leaving behind Doriath and settling someplace far from war, away from the realm of her father, likewise far from Feanorians (he wondered if he should consider Finrod a Feanorian - it felt terribly awkward)... perhaps alone, perhaps among humans (he imagined the prejudice after awe, the poverty and disease which Luthien said could be all changed and that she wanted to change such things), perhaps among elves (she imagined the nosiness and condescending attitude, except perhaps among green elves, but all elves weren't counted for and neither were their attitudes all charted), perhaps dwarves (they both imagined practical indifference but constant noise and dim light, for dwarves had different sensibilities than Finrod in their urban planning - rarely bothering to guide sunlight along mirrors and prisms, instead burning great quanities of refined fuels and making admittedly quite wonderful glowing dyes, so faint glow remained even after fires had gone out). At least they did't consider settling among orcs. But Luthien was from Doriath, and had been of Doriath for longer than Beren's tribe had named themselves the same people... and time seemed short to her while plentifully long to him. Perhaps she imagined against hope that the slower flow of time in Doriathrin forests would somehow keep her lover... longer from departing. Or perhaps some pride was involved. For neither did Beren wish to meet Thingol empty-handed, nor did Luthien want to meet him without kicking the kingdom's gates open and slamming the Silmaril on a table so hard as to shatter it (the table, not the Silmaril, for these are bound to outlast even Earth). As for Melian, they were so confused by her having kept distance. Luthien said it was out of character, that her mother saw far ahead if she wanted to, but had appeared frozen, as if offered to choose between harm, damage and accident...

They fell asleep in each other's embrace. Luthien awoke first, to the sound of... change. At first, she wondered if her senses were misleading her. Nargothrond was a calm and quiet place, and she knew its routine. This morning was different. The amount of background noise propagating through the rock... was growing fast.

Noise on streets started early. Then came sound of materials being moved, work at the underground docks near the river, sound of great quantities of water being moved, likely to alter the river's level, expose the docks and prepare a vessel to arrive or depart...

...then came other sounds. Of rock being split and chiseled, dragged and dropped. Something was being filled and emptied not by cartload, but by shipload. Even air circulating through in the caves had a different flavour today. There was a taste of dust, of smithwork and exotic fumes she didn't recognize.

Luthien guessed Finrod. The elvenking had probably stayed up all night. She awoke Beren to ask if he felt the same. Beren's senses were not so keen as to determine what was changed, but he simply snatched breakfast and insisted that they go explore.

The first thing they came across was the crowd around the signboard. Hung from ceiling near the board of tiny notes (which elves of Nargothrond often left for each other, when someone had need or surplus, assistance or information was sought or offered, announcements or invitations made)... was a black fabric twice taller than the tallest elf, freshly printed with fluorescent paint, duplicated both in Sindarin Cirth and Noldorin Tengwar. Beren couldn't read either, but he knew one word from the title.

"War?" I'm sorry, beloved, I cannot read text of this complexity.

Luthien understood his confusion and read it aloud.

In some strange way, her voice was different this time. He saw her reading it, but heard Finrod pronounce it instead.

* * *

RISK OF WAR

 _(those with prior agreements will save time by reporting at the king's office)_

 _We are no longer safe._

 _Through lamentable circumstances which were partly my mistake,_  
 _a servant of the enemy has assailed one of us, and forced his way_  
 _to knowledge of our city._

 _It can be safely presumed that soon, the Dark Foe knows our location,_  
 _defense capabilities, population, accessways and routes._  
 _Our idle days are over. Days of measured growth are gone._  
 _Nargothrond must move fast and prepare for war. Further announcements_  
 _will follow, but preliminary suggestions can be made:_

 _* since trade routes are open, it will benefit us to dispose of_  
 _(better early and on fair terms) excessive wealth in jewels and_  
 _precious metals in exchange for greater reserves of preservable food,_  
 _steel and copper, industrial ores, fuel for forges and weapons_

 _* our water supply must be reworked, for when the Dark Foe_  
 _becomes involved, we may not count on Narog to supply us any more,_  
 _under attack, Narog may flood or wither to harm our defense,_  
 _turn to poison, freeze or even boil_

 _* on this account, works have been started to give us capability_  
 _of storing great amounts of clean water, as well as capability_  
 _of filtering, distillation and conditioning of water in all breweries_

 _* our ventilation system is being reworked for stronger defenses,_  
 _greater diversity of pathways and better switching between them_

 _* additional works are undergoing to prepare a method of_  
 _rapidly destroying the stone bridge, as well as rapidly_  
 _installing numerous smaller suspension bridges_

 _* docks will remain open, but a plan of action shall be made_  
 _by which they can be sealed from outside and additionally_  
 _cut off from the rest of Nargothrond; ship-crews_  
 _are advised to inquire in advance of developments;_

 _* those of warrior talent are advised to resume training_  
 _and keep armaments within their home; bearing of weapons_  
 _in the course of everyday life will be accommodated for and encouraged;_  
 _those without weapons can freely obtain those and train with them,_  
 _for which purpose armories will be permanently open;_

 _* individual skills count but a little in battle,_  
 _for this purpose a section of the armories will be open_  
 _for education about signals and tactics, machines of war_  
 _and strategy of warfare;_

 _* regular competitions will be held within Nargothrond_  
 _and outside it for teams of warriors in complicated tasks;_

 _* those of building skills (blacksmiths, millers,_  
 _tinkerers, clockmakers, glass-blowers, etc) may find_  
 _skill with tools to outweigh their skills of swordcraft;_  
 _the king's office will have advisors on duty for them_  
 _to help people find tasks of importance_

 _* healers are advised to increase their reserve of supplies_  
 _for treating violent injuries, poisons and burns tenfold,_  
 _for which purpose treasury will accept requests freely_

 _* for those who are convinced that they cannot risk_  
 _participation in war, whether for reasons of family_  
 _or any other cause, advise will be offered on how to relocate_  
 _to other settlements; negotiations will soon commence_  
 _with the Sindarin realm of Menegroth or the Noldorin town of Sirion_

 _* assistance will be soon be requested and likely accepted from_  
 _all peoples, not only the Eldar but likewise Kuzdul and Edain,_  
 _so appearance of strangers is best responded to with curiosity_  
 _rather than suspicion; our safety will no longer stem_  
 _from secrecy_

 _* those who have acquaintances and trading partners abroad,_  
 _are urged to visit the diplomatic office for advise_  
 _on what skills Nargothrond will be seeking_

 _* general assembly will be held according to regular schedule,_  
 _but duration increased three times_

 _Our share of peace has been cause for envy._  
 _This dream was meant to shatter eventually._  
 _Now unfortunately it is over._

 _My colleagues, let us face this with a cool and optimistic mind._  
 _We can defend ourselves._

 _We will prepare for the eventual blow against us,_  
 _enlist the support of the world around, and when the blow comes,_  
 _the striking fist will shatter on rock."_

* * *

On their way to Finrod's office, they came across many a thing unexpected.

Beautifully carved stone plates were removed, revealing shafts leading to far away - some of them small and round, others large and square, with rails, cables or pulleys. Elves were busy nearby, handing out papers and chattering, unpacking large crates of mechanisms and tools. On some levels of Nargothrond, hatches had been opened in ceilings and floors, encircled by fences and ribbons, as lifting equipment was being set up.

One street had all of its floor plating removed, exposing pipework of shining copper, fitted with junctions and valves.

And of course, the people had changed. Already many walked with a sword at their side, or a bow on their back.

Near the main gate, guards had increased tenfold, wearing heavy helmets and plate. Some looked entirely strange, having transparent visors on their helmets, something that left Beren watching in wonder and Luthien too surprised.

More than that, supplies of armaments near the gate were already enough to put Menegroth to shame, yet still increasing and bewildering. Large bows and catapults stood next to spears or anchors, some with rope attached while others separate.

Crates contained bags and small packages. Colored bottles of clay, glass and copper stood in other crates, holding strange liquids, marked with warning signs. Some bottles were tiny, others large. Nearby lay pipes of a dozen sorts with handles and straps, small and large, copper and steel, some with indicators of glass. Among the few obvious things were hoses made of resinous fabric, connected to walls. Large quantities of water were at hand.

They would not need to walk to Finrod's office, he was here near the gate, hunched over papers over a table with a dwarf, five Sindarin warriors and two Noldos in working clothes. Luthien recognized one of them: Celebrimbor. When she and Beren approached, a change occurred which never had before. Two of the Sindar rose and blocked the way to Finrod. They were calm but bore armour, swords and daggers. One of them bowed in greeting.

"Welcome, Luthien and Beren.  
We are the king's newly appointed bodyguards.  
We know and trust you, yet please allow us to fulfill our duty.  
Finrod will be with you soon."

One of the guards went to Finrod, spoke a few words and he rose, leaving his place to the dwarf.

"Hello, Finrod, can you spare us time? You must be very busy."

"Don't worry, my friends Celebrimbor and Faldin will explain instructions to captains. Let us talk someplace calm."

He waved towards a side branch. It turned out to be the guards' lunch room. Bodyguards remained outside while they entered and sat.

"Finrod... what on Earth are these armaments and where did they come from?"

"I've had them made over a hundred years, when my dreams started warning me."

"You expect a dragon and plan to fight it like no other before."  
"You have keen senses. I do expect a dragon, and demons of might leading thousands of orcs."

"What did your dreams show you?"

"They showed me Nargothrond falling to great beasts of war, great machines of war. They showed me the river steaming, stone collapsing, a great shape drawing near across the bridge. Spears bounced off it, arrows were like pebbles, guards died in scorching flames. It rammed the gate. Boulders bounced away from it. Again it rammed until the entire mountainside collapsed. I lay wounded among the rubble. We'd been caught by surprise."

"You decided to alter future."

"I understood that more could be done. I started reforging my dream on every night. I built a better gate. It still collapsed. I gave my warriors better armor. They still died in flames. I gave them dwarven helmets. They lasted for a minute. I despaired and asked Melian to teach me her songs. The dragon was stronger, you cannot sing to a beast while it incinerates you. I demolished the bridge. For a while, the nightmare replaced itself with another, where I fought a werewolf with bare hands. I was actually relieved at that!

Then the dream-dragon came back. While it rampaged in the city above me, until last moment I worked in my study and forge. Until in one dream, I walked towards the dragon and pointed a finely turned steel cylinder at the beast. The dragon spewed fire against me. The fuse burned instantly, while skin burned off my flesh. Explosion threw me back onto ground. With a roar it lashed out above me, its tail shattering pillars. I could see dark blood throbbing from its chest, evaporating in clouds of smoke.

Warriors from armories reached my location. A red-haired woman pulled me back through rubble. She wore a helmet of the kind you stopped to look at - it lets you fight in smoke, fire and even poison. I bade her farewell, bade her to avenge Nargothrond. Words got stuck on my lips. She understood and touched my mind with her spirit, though it burned and hurt me. I spoke to her in haste. My last vision was of demons taking her before Morgoth to be questioned. She was wounded and shackled, but smiling. She spoke some words which weren't real words, but a cipher. Morgoth bounced back in fear, yelling orders. She was slain immediately, but the Silmarils on the iron crown started to brighten. Night split in a flash above Angband, shattering mountains. I believe she unmade the Silmarils. And she wasn't you. She has disappeared from my dreams. I think that in some future, I forgot Amarie and loved someone else."

Finrod closed his eyes and pressed fingers against his temples, as if having a headache. Luthien understood that Finrod had received a fair share of the same gift (and curse) that Galadriel got.

"Since then, the dream has changed. I still occasionally dream of fighting an invasion led by a dragon, but now we destroy the bridge. The beast climbs up, but we prevail over it. Orcs and demons surround us, but are powereless to enter."

"So your dreams don't involve a woman going to Angband any more?"

"They don't... and if anyone goes there, I wish it were neither of you."


	2. Messenger and spy

They agreed to spend a few days in Nargothrond. Finrod promised to help them choose supplies, and also to show them maps. Supplies they needed, and Finrod loved maps. His collection was rumoured of. No small amount of wandering had he done before choosing Nargothrond, and trade with neigbouring realms had later brought opportunity to collect rarities from abroad.

He asked them to visit him in the evening.

When they rose and left the guards' lunchroom, developments near the bridge had become curious indeed.

Guards were shooing away onlookers while Celebrimbor and Faldin had donned heavy leather boots, trousers, aprons, hats and gloves, and were fussing around two seemingly boring pieces of metal, arranged in an interlocking pattern. Near them however, was a platform on wheels which carried something like a miniature brewery. Instead of kegs however, there were two bottles made of glass and pipes of copper. Instead of ale, pebbles of minerals bubbled in two big liquid-filled bottles.

Beren noted that these were different minerals, while Luthien added that the pressure inside was growing - water columns in two glass pipes connected to seemingly pointless bottles were rising steadily. Faldin stepped close and started adjusting valves. Soon a hiss could be heard through a screw-turned spring-loaded valve.

Then the dwarf took two hoses connected to the machine, ending at handles made of precious stone, gave one to Celebrimbor and held one himself. Celebrimbor fixed something like a mirror to his hat, while Faldin pulled black goggles before his eyes. Then they adjusted their tools, and the hiss at the machine disappeared, intead appearing near the smiths. Faldin struck a spark and bright flame leapt from their tools, precisely where the two streams encountered each other. They adjusted their tools and the flame grew even brighter - so bright that Luthien turned away to protect her eyes, and Beren soon did the same.

"They have assembled a portable forge or something", he concluded.  
"I've seen such flame once before, when dwarves of Menegroth allowed me to mix a tiny amount of flash-fire."

Beren wondered what it meant.

"As a young elfling, curiosity drew me strongly to their caves. I probably was quite a nuisance, as I was persistent and the king's daughter. Sometimes they still forbade me... but sometimes they let me inquire and watch. On that occasion, they let me even try. You mix three secret components, one of which they call "bat shit", but I've seen no bats outputting white powder. It gets sticky when kept outside a jar. The other one looks like ground coal. Third one looks like rust. You must mix precise quantities. If you mix it well, you better know exactly what you want of it, for the temper of this substance is short."

"So what did you want of it?"

"I wanted to make fire-runes. They said it wouldn't do, and told me to add a fourth powder and decrease the quantity of the coal-like stuff. They told we needed to cook it, and gave me goggles, as flash-fire sometimes ignites when cooked. Then we cooked it and to my surprise, it turned into a porridge - a very hot porrige that instantly burns your hands. We scooped it out of copper vessel with a wooden spoon, and after some cooling down, I could roll and bend it like dough. I did exactly that and and bent the word "Surprise" out of it. Then I showed it to my parents."

Beren tried to imagine a sooty elf-princess impressing her parents with dwarvish fire.

"How did it go?"

"They were surprised aplenty, although father grumbled about me burning my fingers off. Mother said there was another way make fire-runes. I was young and not persistent at learning, so I never properly learnt her version of making them. She showed me, though. Their light was a persistent and bright green, which lasted and didn't throw sparks. If you mixed the right paint, it would be transparent in sunlight, but light up shimmering green at night."

"I wish I could see such wonders some day."

"I can try to show you."

"But how? You said you didn't learn it properly?"

"I didn't learn it, but I did remember."

She stepped close to him and whispered something in his ear. It was a song, a silent hushed song in her Sindarin tongue, which spoke of starlight falling through a window on a table, on top of which a picture painted with bright green fire appeared. For a moment, listening to her, Beren was transported almost entirely to that imaginary place (or perhaps it was a real place she knew) and examined the picture, smiling. It was a drawing of a flower. She stopped her song and Beren woke from his daydream, amused. To his surprise he noticed that nearby elves were curiously looking at them, some surprised, others smiling. He wondered if she had whispered too loud.

That was definitely not the case with Faldin and Celebrimbor. Their fire was noisy and shadows of the smiths working flickered on the wall, painted by their bright light, showing one of them feeding wire into the glare, and the other hammering at the afterglow. As suddenly as it had started, their fire stopped. Clouds of smoke swirled around, both elf and dwarf coughing and spitting.

"We have to borrow helmets from those guards of Finrod", Faldin exclaimed. "Or we won't last long. We can tint their glass with smoke. Your immortal lungs may regrow eventually but I don't think mine can take this."

"The amount of welding he wants us to do is great. I'm not inclined to gamble either. Once I pay a visit to Namo, I might stop for dinner there and not return in an age or two. Captain Gildor, do your folks have fans?"

"Do you mean bellows?"  
"No, I definitely mean fans."

"Armories certainly don't, but they were fashionable among ladies recently."  
"No, not that sort of fans. I mean fans like small windmills. Rotating wheels with blades."

"We do have various wheels and cranks in the equipment store."

"I need one such a wheel-hub, preferably wood, one crank about this size, two good bearings and a shaft about five steps long, and a roll of thin copper sheet about this wide. Then a piece of turned wood about this thick, and steel nails. Can you arrange such items? I think that without them, we will ruin the air for everyone, yet we cannot do this outdoors."

"We should have such items. I'll have them brought to you."

What the entirety of their work was about, remained a mystery for Luthien and Beren too.

"I still guess they want to build something large out of metal."

"Probably. This flame is of the same temper as flash-fire, but persistent. And I guess that half of their machine is making fuel, while the other half produces something far more conductive to burning than air."

"Once you explain it that way, it no longer seems like dirty magic to me."

"Dirty indeed, but not magic, definitely."

He asked is she had their list nearby. Luthien fished it out of her satchel. Examining it, they concluded that first of all, they should find backpacks and saddle-bags. How much they could take along would depend on how they carried it. Even getting halfway to Angband required scaling difficult terrain. While they could leave on horseback, the final leg of their journey as well as any possible return trip (at that, Beren congratulated her upon optimism) would have to occur on foot.

-====== wasteland near Angband ======-

He cursed and threw the rest of his supplies into the fire. Without a horse, there would be no way of transporting such a quantity of wares, and Glorfindel knew his items bore clues of their origin. It was best to burn them.

With the king's permission he had left, and for a week made his way deep into enemy territory, making mental notes of everything he saw (for paper notes can be taken)... until this bastardly assault from the air.

What had come for him, he was not entirely certain of - but his hearing had forewarned him by half a moment. He had let go of reins and dropped to the side of his horse, to see a winged shape with claws miss narrowly. Whether its scream meant frustration or something else, his mare had taken it as a clue to jump, fall badly and break her leg. Glorfindel had jumped in turn, to avoid falling under her. Though stumps of burnt trees littered the landscape, he had practised this move thousands of times, and landed on feet.

The horse struggled, trying to rise but failing. It screamed in pain everytime it tried to rely on its right foreleg. He knew some healers could mend even a horse's bones. But not on the stairway to hell on Earth. He felt incredibly sorry, spoke to the animal and asked for permission. He explained what lurked in the sky, looking out for its next dive.

The horse stopped struggling and calmed. It understood this would be quick - no predator would devour it slowly. There was no time to discuss philosophy. He bade it goodbye and raised the sword to strike.

Taking cover under a tree made sense. If skies were hostile, forest offered protection. This forest had throughly burnt, but even in its dead form, it still hindered any winged attacker. Thus it was here that he lit his fire, burnt his wares and left the flame alive to draw attention, slipping into shadows.

He walked slowly, listening carefully. Running would make it worse. Metal parts of his helmet and armor would rub and make sound. He preferred metal armor, even if it had to be darkened and painted dull for such duties.

Stars were obscured, so he attempted to trace his way back southward from memory. The forest would last for another mile. After that, decisions were needed. Out in an open field, he would make a splendid target. He would take that course only if no sign of the attacker was present.

He waited, considered, deemed it safe and took that course.  
She waited, watched, gave him time to reach far and glided towards him.

"Do not approach me, servant of Morgoth! I can hear you fly!"

Damnable elvish hearing, but it could be tricked. She threw a handful of pebbles all around him and dove to kill. Her iron claws would have either his neck or right hand. Once that was done, it would be easy. She could blind him by spitting poison and use her teeth as weapons. Oh, elves could bite too, but a pet dog's bite was more dangerous.

What happened next was not what she had expected. The elf threw off his helmet, and he glowed. Thuringwethil had already started her dive and needed to make split-second decision. He was already raising his sword and she would grab it first. Steel claws met steel, her inertia pushed him over, he released the sword and she instantly reached for his neck, only to have his dagger land in her neck first. She still tried spitting at him, but he jumped away fast.

"Ouch."

She reached for his sword, but he leapt on her hand. She grabbed his leg with her iron fist, but his leggings were steel.

"Damn."  
"Give back my sword and I will not take your life."  
"Haha, good one."

She pulled the dagger from her neck and wielded it, but the cursed weapon recognized it was not in the right hands, lighting up like a glow-worm.

In a strange dance he tried to avoid her strikes and she tried to get his sword. They wrestled and rolled on the ashen ground like feral cats fighting. Glorfindel knew she was severely wounded, but her touch was deadly and his wasn't, and any flying creature had vast reserves of strength. As long as he could keep them tumbling so that she could not coordinate her moves, he might escape.

In the end he escaped her grasp, but with neither dagger nor sword. Thuringwethil wielded them both and Glorfindel had to bring forth his pocket knife. Her strength however, was leaving her. Her neck bled profusely.

"I trade my scarf for my sword! You might escape alive if you accept it, foe!"

"Fuck you. Fuck you on a flail of spikes, really."

She had strength enough to walk, maybe even run and glide.

"Do not approach - not unless you hold that sword the other way! I am still armed!"

"You call that a weapon, haha."

He seized his helmet from the ground and took a dozen quick steps back.

"By the way, what are you called?"

No way, she was not going there. No delaying.

"No, we shall not talk until sun rises. We will fight, you will die and your blood will heal me."

"I might run faster than you. In the forest, I will escape, you will die of exhaustion and I will recover my sword. As a gesture of goodwill, I will tell you my name, if you tell me yours. I am Glorfindel, and the sword is a present from lord Finarfin. It will not serve you well. Give it back and you'll have my scarf and my coat to bind your wounds, and I will release my dagger to you."

"I hold your dagger, you fool. I am Thuringwethil."

"Yes, you hold it, and it illuminates you quite nicely. I won't make compliments. You are bleeding fast."

Point taken.

She flipped the sword around and held it from its blade. If he tried anything, she could hold on to it. He unwound his scarf and took the surcoat off, holding them by his outstretched left hand. Air became thick with tension as elf and vampire approached. He knew of her trick, blocking the path to his face with the bundle of cloth. In silence they came into contact and the tension unsprang. He seized his sword and jumped backward, and she seized his clothes and did likewise.

The dagger still glowed.

"Well?"  
"Please wait, I've forgotten the words."  
"What?!"  
"Elf-lords are allowed to forget things when somewhat nervous!"  
"Are you kidding me?"

She was halfway through closing off the wound with the scarf, holding the dagger with teeth.

"Oh, I remember!"

The words were not nice, they mentioned things which she would not willingly say. But the dagger heard them and stopped resisting her.

"Goodbye!"

Efficient. No nonsense, no pleas to convince her to return to light. Smart elf. He walked first and having looked back three times, eventually started jogging towards the forest.

Thuringwethil stumbled towards the other forest, her head spinning from blood loss. She would have to reach the horse. Most of its value had been spilled, but enough remained. The wound would heal if she rested.

She was disappointed. She was not better than her shape-shifting companion had been. He had lost his island and she had nearly lost her life... for what? For illusions that he fed her. - "Go take a hike. You've had me as your pet long enough. I can feed myself and watch you fight them."


	3. Fever and memories of ice

Notes: I've revised and edited the part where Glorfindel reaons why he won't try to cross the mountains to Gondolin (it is extremely arduous on the northern reaches, and he isn't sure he's not tracked), and why he can't travel along Sirion (Tol Sirion is under Sauron's command to his knowledge). So that's why he heads back home in a circle - to avoid discovery and avoid enemy strongholds.

* * *

"I'm lucky to be trying this together with you, who appears to get free stuff from strangers without stealing", Beren grinned.

No amount of convincing had persuaded the shopkeeper to accept money from them. Luthien couldn't exactly tell him they'd fallen from Thingol's favour and she carried a grudge against him. Yes, a grudge she did carry... as her father's actions had been a level beyond stupid - but she also understood what drove him to such deeds. He was seeing her choice as devastating and self-destructive. Just like she would try to stop Beren from jumping off Nargothrond's bridge, had Thingol tried to stop her from joining his journey to Angband...

...a journey Thingol had caused. A demand he had made and refused to drop. To have the impossible... to place a barrier before their life together. That was the core of his fault and the source of her grudge. She could not absolve him of responsibility, even if she understood what drove him.

She leant against the cool wall at an intersection and sighed...

...at least she tried hinting to the shopkeeper that maybe Thingol wouldn't be all cheerful about him helping their quest. It wouldn't help, as he hinted that Finrod's guests were entitled to the same courtesy. Thanking him sincerely and promising assistance if they should return, was all they could. Luthien didn't tell the shopkeeper his backpacks would be going to Angband.

She had never seen Finrod pull stunts of authority like her father did. A fault was present in her father's personality, a crack which might be bridged or sealed, or might widen and swallow things that mattered. She didn't know what might heal it - defying him or showing him she could do the impossible.

"I'm embarrassed, Beren. I tried... every honest word that could be said, I said.  
The only thing I'd really prefer having without strings attached...  
...is a clue bat to give my parents a clue.  
I wish something less than Feanor's handicraft would suffice."

"I too would wish that. But that crossroad is behind us."

They decided for copper bottles. Glass and clay were heavy and could shatter, leather could be punctured by thorns. Copper vessels could be heated, would take impact and in worst case, could be cut and plied make things. Having a water bottle that could become a tool or weapon made sense.

They chose a long span of thin rope, specially crafted dwarvish handles for keeping hold of it, hooked wheels and light pick-axes which had a hammer head on their reverse side, a few unimpressive nails and two very impressive anchors which the dwarf who sold them claimed could be easily thrown over Narog at any point upstream. You just had to spin the anchor in a reckless-looking way. Before they'd left his shop, he reminded them that only a fool or a forest elf would climb without a safety harness, and their backpacks could be easily adjusted to become such a thing. She was a forest elf but decided that she wanted one for herself too.

The armories were full of free weapons now on Finrod's command, and they were humbling. Beren still had his sword, an old sword made by human blacksmiths. To be fair with them, they had tried their best, but the result did not compare in any way or manner to items in Finrod's armories. Beren gave his sword to the weapons-master and suggested using it for educational purposes. The master agreed and thanked, took measurements of his height, hand and shoulder, and gave him a slightly curved elvish blade which was a little lighter but a lot stronger and could likely cleave Beren's sword in half with ten strikes. It had been folded hundreds of times by its makers. It looked beautiful and terrible at the same time. Luthien agreed.

"It's an impressive weapon. For myself however, I don't want a sword. I know which way to hold one, but I've trained with daggers. My people prefer to fight their battles in thickets and these Noldorin swords make the impression of trying to swing a broomstick in a wardrobe closet. They leave you helpless once someone gets close to you. But they are doubtless very deadly on an open field."

She also requested a shortbow glued together of multiple woods. For Beren, this was the first time to hold such a weapon. He knew them from stories and asked if the glue didn't come loose in rain. The weapons master assured that glue was waterproof and wood specially treated. You could swim across rivers with this bow and not worry about the wood. Even the string was coated with liquids that kept water off if. Beren knew that honesty was held in high regard here and didn't doubt his word.

Finally she requested a saw. Little did she know that Beör's tribe couldn't forge such items. Beren suggested to the weapons master that next time he came across Beren's kinsmen, the elf ought drop a hint of such blades existing. He knew some woodworkers who'd give their horse, no, their cart and all of its horses (save one to carry them home really fast), for a rusty old specimen. The master smiled and promised to do that.

He wanted to proceed with acquiring food, but Luthien suggested otherwise. "I think we ought to meet Finrod first. He will know the length of the journey, and things about the land that we cannot guess."

"I know a little, since I arrived to Doriath from north. But your advise is sound. Finrod is well-traveled and has seen the sunrise more times than all of my forebears after each other."

-======= wasteland near Angband =========-

Glorfindel had walked night and day, keeping a pace at which his body used energy most efficiently.

Not a damned leaf on a triple-damned withered twig had he seen on that day of walking. Not a spring either, not a river, not a stream, not a pond, not even a puddle. He was starting to doubt the wisdom of disposing of some items. They didn't exactly have the "Encircling Mountains" and "Onolinde" painted on them in red, even if they hinted of a place where practises differed from the widely known.

He had a bag of dried fruit and fish, two flasks of water, a fold of lembas, a bit of silk and some fishing hooks ( but worms near Angband might not need hooks to catch fish ), if he only found a river. Preferably one that didn't smell of sulfur and didn't look like orc hordes were taking turns shitting into it upstream.

He quickly calculated how far he'd reach in good shape, and how far beyond that in other shapes.

He decided he was not heading to Gondolin. Ovecoming the mountains was too much, and he might be tracked on his journey. Neither could he pass through Tol Sirion, so instead he'd make a circle westward and south, reaching the sources of Narog, head downstream there and then turn east, reaching Sirion in a friendly environment that sustained his travel.

-====================== dinner with Finrod ===================-

"You have chosen smartly, your backpacks are very practical, your weapons are good... but no line or anchor will help you scale walls at Angband. These are sheer cliffs of rock hundreds of steps in height. Nothing will attach there unless you hammer it, and you really don't want to start hammering there."

She was a bit disappointed and he saw it.

"Don't be disappointed. You will still need them to cross rivers, and they are excellent stuff for that."

"Perhaps they have parts of the wall which they don't maintain well?", Beren guessed.

"In the far North, perhaps... but I don't advise going far North. Then again, maybe I am partial. When our host crossed the Grinding Ice, every third of us died on the journey."

"We could sneak in among other entrants," Luthien proposed.  
"Unless we impersonate prisoners, in which case we might become prisoners, that might be difficult," Beren countered.  
"We can make fake wounds, wear fake shackles, impersonate wounded orcs."

Luthien realized how little she knew of orcs, when Finrod noted that they didn't carry their wounded - they either killed them for food if time was plentiful, abandoned them if time was short, or for close kin and comrades in arms, asked permission to kill them and didn't let others scavenge.

"Besides, one shape-shifter can recognize another."  
"Do you know if Morgoth employs many such creatures," she inquired.

"Unfortunately that's where I am useless. I wish I knew more. From what I understand, there are two ways to put on a convincing disguise and a third way to actually change. I know only the two - physical camouflage and songs of illusion. Being Melian's daughter, perhaps you know more of shifting forms than I."

"Unfortunately no. My mother hasn't discussed how she took elvish form, why she chose that particular appearance, or whether she has ever changed it. Since they have pledged their soul and body to each other, I don't think she has."

"If you have time, then with proper care, you would be a person whom I would advise to explore this possibility. There are some seemingly ordinary people who can assume animal form. Who granted them that ability and how, I know not... and few are left. Most have been captured... by him whom I'll not mention, lest I draw his attention."

"So all these werewolves didn't spring from nothing?"  
"No, they didn't. They were made to, and are being made to do more."  
"I guess that means there could be some at Angband," Luthien concluded.

Finrod nodded at that. "I would guess he breeds them. Ever since the first sigtings, their form has become greater and more terrible, their loyalty to him has increased and compassion decreased."

"I wonder if there's any form of life he hasn't succeeded with corrupting?", Beren asked.

Finrod paused for thought. "No. There are only individuals he doesn't succeed with. But let's not talk of this. I would wish I could discourage you this way, but I understand I would only depress."

"You are right. We have many other things to speak about, like your maps. And Luthien said to ask you for advise on foodstuff."

"Before we get to maps and weapons, I'd like to show you a very practical toy. Please, have a look."

The elf-king brought a small wooden box, put it on the table and removed the lid. Inside was a tube made of precisely turned, polished and lacquered wood, with caps on both ends. Beren removed the caps and found them to hang by pieces of string. Under both caps was a glass - one big, the other small. Both glasses had been milled and polished, and there was not a single bubble to be seen. Beren turned it this way and that, trying to determine its purpose, until he suddenly stopped. Then he put his hand before the tube and moved it closer and further, and moved the tube closer to his eyes and further again. Next, he flipped it around and repeated the same.

"It takes some practise getting used to, but I understand you discovered its trick. For the Edain, I think an optimal way to hold it would be this way."

Finrod held the tube about a finger's length from his eye.

"For the Eldar, it makes sense to bring it closer. Unfortunately our eyes really are that different and it was made by elves for elves."

Now it was Luthien who wanted to take a look. She pointed it at a far wall of the hall, and smiled.

"Wow, thank you! Such a seeing-glass is just the thing one needs in dangerous places!"

"Indeed. With that, I can see further than Luthien does, and Luthien will see like eagles. I also notice that it turns dim things brighter."

"Indeed it does, for the outer glass is so large and collects more light than many eyes could. Please take it for your journey. Let it help you avoid enemies and spot friends from far away."

Recognizing the value of such a gift, they both thanked upon accepting it.  
Finrod wasn't done, though.

Next he brought a small glass sphere filled with clear liquid, sealed with a needle of glass extending into it and piercing through another needle, which had a hole in its center. One of its tips was painted green. Finrod blew out the nearest candle and blocked the light from further ones with his hands, showing it to them. The needletip glowed. Then he turned the sphere and the inner workings turned... back to their previous direction. Again he turned it, and again the rotating needle pointed itself back.

"Why does it turn itself, and can you tell where towards?"

"It is made from a mineral that remembers the way its crystals were pointing when they became solid. In this device, the green arrowhead always tries to point south. Sailors value such trinkets greatly, but they are useful even on land. When cloud and smoke obscur stars entirely and vegetation is upturned or dead, finding your direction at night can become difficult. Unless you are on a mountain of iron, in which case it lies and misleads, this item should help you."

"Wow, Finrod, I am impressed. Where do you get such things? Surely you don't make them all, or do you?", Beren inquired.

"This one I actually made, with the assistance of two dwarven glass-masters, who offered to help me, after I let them disassemble and study the seeing-glass. The seeing-glass however is from Valinor and a gift from Amarie. I think the Vanyar use it for star-gazing. They have delved deeper into what a star is made of than perhaps the star-kindler would prefer."

At that he smiled, as if remembering times long lost... times when everything wasn't measured by its economic value or military advantage.

"She didn't let me walk onto the Grinding Ice entirely unprepared. She gave me many suggestions and helped find useful items. We did not part immediately, though it didn't make it lighter. Thus I was among the last to leave and best equipped. My duty became to pick up stragglers and help them along... and to comfort those who could not continue, and pay them last respects. Some I persuaded to turn back, and some probably managed to."

Luthien felt uncomfortable at Finrod giving them Amarie's seeing-glass. In the same manner it was impossible to feel something entirely unnoticed in Galadriel's presence, it was impossible when Finrod was being attentive.

"Please don't. It has guided me well, and helped choose wiser paths in that terrible obstacle course. Just like I needed assistance then, so do you need it now. I cannot imagine you making it there and back without all the assistance and luck you can find. I wish I could offer more. I wish I could join you with a host of warriors, but no such might can Nargothrond call up. I wish I could walk before you and throw Morgoth's crown into dirt... but I cannot. Even the worst of my weapons cannot kill him, even if they might banish him from his physical form temporarily."

"I know. Thank you, Finrod. I didn't expect you to have a weapon to lay Angband in ruin."

"The lady who has stopped visiting my dreams has it, probably... even if the real weapon sits on top of Morgoth's head. I truly feel that Morgoth will eventually meet his end by light. But wait, I do have more to offer. Every traveler needs food and drink. Places near Angband aren't particularly famous for their clear water and nourishing food."

"From what I've heard, it's a barren land of burnt forests and polluted streams."

"You have heard right."

Thus he showed them his third present, which was a good stockpile of meticulously packed dried food. There was kale and turnip, sea-buckthorn and nuts, dried berries and fruits. Every package looked unnaturally heavy and dense, and fit together without taking needless space. Dry food was light and preserved well, but still took up volume.

"Dwarven trick. When they pack for a long journey, they actually compress their food into bars. Since this kingdom has no queen, there is nobody here who has bothered to learn making lembas, for which I apologize."

Beren couldn't help but imagine a pair of dwarves turning cranks on a great vice to compress turnip into a mold...

"As for water, this should help you clean it."

A tiny distiller, nohing less.

"You fill this vessel with any sort of water, and light a fire below it. This vessel is the last you should empty for drinking - it helps cool the vapour traveling the spiral pipe. When vapour cools, it makes droplets and they are collected here. If you pour outright poison into the first vessel, it may be advisable to distill multiple times. And finally you add this mixture of salt, one spoonful for this flask."

"But why salt?"

"Distilled water is clean, but no good for drinking. Health may deteriorate if you use it too long."

-================== wasteland near Angband ==================-

Fever.

Damn it, he was feeling it... he was going down with fever.

Glorfindel had inspected himself thorougly after his fight with Thuringwethil.  
There were only mere scratches, not a single proper wound.  
Apparently her claws were poisonous enough.

He did his calculations again, and concluded that the situation was rotten. He would slow down, consume more food, become thirsty and have to sleep. Unfit for proper fighting and exhausted he would reach Narog. Was a raft an option? Could he let the river carry him downstream without expending effort, or were the rapids too risky?

"Or perhaps I can convince my body to ignore the poison."

He tried. He told his body it was nothing, mere grains of dirt. It would be preferable to encapsulate particles of the poison, freeze them in tiny clots instead of dealing with them immediately. It didn't work as cheerfully as healers he'd learnt from had described. The poison was alive, not mere dirt. It had a will of its own. His body had the strength to fight and defeat it, but for that he needed to let fever come.

Thus he made his bed halfway up a tree, taking precautions to avoid being surprised and likewise against falling down like a ripe apple.

The first hour was actually invigorating. Air seemed to cool, while in reality it was his body getting warmer. Fever was a fight that called him, and into it he sprang.

He wondered if he should have walked on. Soon however, discomfort increased - hearing dulled, his head started throbbing, eyes became sore and a slight involuntary tremble appeared in muscles. He didn't let it become too intense. He would have a mild fever, during which his body became faster, more like the bodies of mortal men. It would chase down, collect up and expel the poison.

"On the cheerful side, I still have ten dried apples and two salty dried breams."

He started nipping on one of the apples, consuming it slowly, letting every bit gain its taste.


	4. Along paved roads

Their dinner with Finrod lasted until midnight and Luthien resorted to her notebook. The maps were too large to copy in full, too informative to ignore...

...until she realized.

"Please wait. I think I know a way to take this knowledge along."

Finrod and Beren paused their talk and were silent. She stepped near the map of North-Western Beleriand they'd been discussing, and observed it for a minute. Then she turned and requested that they both look elsewhere and think of a place they cannot find by memory. Finrod picked the rapids of Turnwater while Beren chose the bridge of the old Nevrast-Doriath-Nogrod trade road. Then, Luthien asked them to try finding their answer from her song, and into her song she put her entire memory of the map, though words were few and insufficient to describe it.

"I can see it - it's the third rapid from the springs! It bends out eastward," Finrod exclaimed.  
"I find a wooden bridge at the latitude of the crossings of Teiglin. It is not detailed. I feel the bridge has crumbled", Beren said.

"It was actually a stone bridge, but crumbled it is," Finrod mentioned. "And this violates a natural law I thought to apply, but let the judges be lenient on you, dear wrong-doer."

"She has done this before, and is a hardened outlaw thus," Beren joked, "I think her mother's bad life choices influenced her, though, so we can excuse her."

"If I weren't so glad to have found a solution, I'd like to sing you a song about your ears, for you see them not, but they are green like a wood-goblin's tongue", she parried smiling. The king however looked like an elfling who has found a new toy.

"I think this proves that songs of illusion aren't information transfer! They are merely an introduction to start such transfer between minds. I started thinking so when working on some Feanorian ciphers, short words of nonsense that typically represent a sentence that makes sense. The two have really little in common, but the effect is similar. Without you, I'd have needed to see Melian, and I'd have never dared to bother her with this request alone. Thank you!"

"When I sing, I always choose what to share of my mind. It did not occur to me that one could do otherwise," Luthien said.  
"That is strange to me. I don't deliberately do that... but I might be doing it anyway without knowing," Finrod wondered.

It took a quarter of an hour for Luthien to visualize the maps they needed, and doubting what she actually could, she asked Beren if he wanted to know the way to the pools of Ivrin, a place known for their beauty of nature. He tried and found the way, but didn't see anything detailed. Finrod said that this was natural, if Luthien had never been there, and she confirmed she hadn't.

When it finally came to talk of weapons, Finrod was not optimistic.

"You cannot expect much help of weapons. On a defensive position in a mountainside behind a river, we here can expect weapons to help us. Over there... try for example to imagine a balrog. Three hundred elves may stand against it, but if it really wants, it rushes through the company unhindered, for it's a massive creature surrounded by a blaze of fire. Very few of these have ever fallen in battle."

"But are they cunning?", she asked.

"Good point. They are his servants. He expects absolute loyalty and won't take no for an answer. That is a weakness, as he is suppressing many qualities of intellect in them, which could be why the nameless one avoids his court. But they are Maiar, twisted and deformed by their own choices and him, but still Maiar."

"Thanks for the warning, I just lost the interest to try outmatching them."  
"You may have to. Everywhere he's been observed, he goes with at least six."  
"Surely even a dark lord wishes privacy sometimes? Surely he sometimes wears a helmet and leaves his crown behind?"

"I wish I knew... after the duel with Fingolfin, he has avoided battle... but the crown has always been there. Also, there might be dragons. Dwarves fought one, losing a thousand warriors and their king, and wounded it somewhat. Orcs later boasted with Glaurung coming behind them. That was its name. And if balrogs can appear to be dim-witted, that definitely cannot be said of Glaurung. It is cunning, it is smart, it talks well and its talk is almost hypnotic. If a person is unprepared, it can weave words that make them lose all attention."

Luthien seemed to be considering something, when Beren asked "How far would they see us at night, and how far during day?".

"You should expect to be noticed when you appear on horizon during day. At night, you might get close, but many of the garrison have excellent night vision. Pitted against a good seeing-glass however, eyes always lose the match."

"Night is also more conductive to illusions," she added.

"So basically, our weapons must keep us safe against stray orcs, and will be useless there."

"Precisely so. Keep the pick-axes or something made of heavy steel, though. If you have good enough fortune to find the crown abandoned, you might find the Silmarils firmly stuck there. Don't be afraid to use any amount of force to extract them - nothing that you can do will break them. Unknowing of the power they contained, we actually enjoyed a wager back in Valinor..."

"A wager to break Feanor's most cherished work?", she asked, looking surprised.

"A wager to break just one. When Feanaro was still younger and mischievous, but already proud of his creation, he announced a challenge and was confident to let everyone try. None of the Valar took any interest... but some Maiar honestly tried. And, now that I remember it clearly... the nameless one kept distance. He was present, but tasting wine in a nearby wood. I think he was put off by the idea of breaking one. Perhaps by their beauty, perhaps because their light already hurt him... or even by knowledge of what success might bring. Being the prankster he was, Feanaro was probably pleased with having the upper hand. There was a rivalry between the two of them. None had thought an elf would ever make such things. I think they became so absorbed in the process of making more and better, that they forgot how to enjoy rest and how to wonder at others' creations."

Finrod sighed.

"I didn't want the old times to end this way... with treachery and murder and claims that if you aren't with us, you're against. I was younger, eager to explore. I believed that justice could be restored by making Morgoth taste his own medicine. I lost that illusion when news of Alqualonde caught up with me in the blizzards. When I set foot on Arda, I felt old already."

They parted ways. Beren and Luthien needed to rest well, as their journey would start next day. Finrod needed to read some reports.

Heading out of the gate on their horses next day, it became apparent what Celebrimbor and Faldin were building.

A great shaft of metal had been assembled from pipes welded together, and ran diagonally through rock near the gate. It reached the bridge near the center of its longest span. Scaffolds had been lowered on the opposing side of the bridge and a large wedge-shaped piece was being installed. The inward end of the shaft was anchored into rock with a bearing and great gear, and into the teeth of the gear there attached a threaded shaft, ending with a large crank with four handles.

"It's a mechanism to pull the bridge down sideways", Beren commented. "My intuition tells me that their mechanism will greatly enlarge the force of anyone turning that crank. I would guess at least a hundred times."

"More than plentifully. I would guess ten thousand," Luthien said. "By what the dwarves of Menegroth taught me, I saw four transitions of power that increase force. First the hand-crank is much greater than the worm-shaft. Then the worm-shaft is much smaller than the main gear. Then the screw threads in the center are much smaller than the main gear... and finally the wedge applies greater force sideways than the force it's pulled with."

They rode northward along the bottom of the canyon. Narog had carved its way deep through the plateau. Sun only shone here at noontime, and plantlife was modest. Instead of tilling fields, elves who lived here wrought wood and metal, traded or fished. Their landing bridges by the river were different from the ordinary, standing on high poles. The reason was only obvious if one knew that Finrod had sought and found a way to divert Narog's power this way and that. If a stranger came to these lands and went swimming, local elves would quickly bring their attention to signposts.

"What do they say?", asked Beren.  
"They warn of rapid changes in the water's depth and current, of which warning will be given by blowing a horn three times: once shortly, once for a medium length, and finally for long."

Signposts disappeared after a few miles and the canyon shallowed into a valley. Workshops became rare among farms and orchards, for the city required more food than forest was willing to part with, and these were the places where it came from.

Narog was still deep and bigger boats were occasionally seen, but nothing worthy of the name "ship". Ships docked at Nargothrond and didn't venture upstream out of the canyon.

Roads were good and by the end of their first day of travel, they had covered about thirty miles. Beren suggested setting up a tent but Luthien spotted a house far away.

"If we ask for shelter, we might spare some time and get moving sooner in the morning."  
"I agree that it's practical, but in company of strangers, we cannot discuss our plans and I can't try to kiss you."

She smiled and stopped her horse, dismonting, and he did the same. Before walking on with their horses trailing behind, they shared a hug and a little kiss.

"Thank you. I like you so much, yet cannot properly put it into words. With a kiss and a hug, I feel I can express myself better."  
"I like that form of expression, at least until the journey turns us dirty like dwarves who are extracting a wagon train from mud."

The wooden house was of modest and practical design, built halfway into a tree-covered hill with its door and windows facing east. The influence of Nargothrond could be felt here too - it had windows of glass and wood was neatly sawed, not crudely cut with axes. The roof was made of baked stones which Finrod had arranged to be made in quantity, using another method borrowed from dwarves. Brick-makers in other parts of the world still compressed their clay into molds, but here they fed a mixture of clay into mills which extruded it through a profiled slot, where it was cut to length and taken for drying and baking.

A ring of bushes encircling the house was still young, indicating it had been settled recently.

There was no gate, as elves were not keen on raising livestock, so Luthien walked directly to the door, to have a woman open the door a few steps before she reached there. She had light-brown shoulder-length hair and wore working clothes.

"Greetings, and apologies for disturbing you. I am Luthien and that is Beren. We are traveling northwards. I know that there's a village about twenty miles further, where we could find an inn, but it occurred to me to ask if you could accommodate guests? We'd be glad to make up any inconvenience we cause. Still, our need for shelter isn't dire, as we have a tent. If we'd complicate your life needlessly, just say so."

"Hello. I am Naurgil, and I live here with Tawarost, my husband. Let me ask him too, and I can tell you soon."

Naurgil disappeared into the house and soon emerged together with Tawarost, who smiled and bowed. He wore hair slightly longer than her, dark strands of gray neatly done in a braid. His clothes had a design characteristic of construction work - padded knees, many pockets and simple design.

"We are glad to invite you, please accept our roof and food. Rarely do travelers stop here, as most try to reach the inn. If you come from southward and aren't tired, we might even learn of what goes on in the city. Rumor has reached here that great changes are afoot."

"Thank you," Luthien and Beren both said in Sindarin, as that was clearly the tongue of this household.

She continued "From the city we came indeed, and rumours of change are unfortunately true. I will share all that I can."

Naurgil advised them to leave their horses near the vegetable cellar. Beren undid the saddles and saddle-bags and Luthien told the animals that they could graze on grass, but nothing else. They appeared to understand her words and took to trimming the lawn. She was not entirely certain of her word being sufficient, however. "We'll have to keep an eye out to make sure they don't discover anthing tastier."

"Don't worry, my field is outside the bushes, over there," Naurgil pointed upward along the valley. "You can have the room at the right from the front door, we usually keep it ready if family should stop by, preferring ourselves the upper floor, as sun shines stronger there in morning."

The kitchen was on the ground floor and Tawarost had put a kettle on the stove and brought both cups and herbs, offering guests tea. Bean soup with fish was likewise to be had, and dried bread with butter. This year's vegetables weren't ready yet, but onions were already providing greens.

Naurgil and Tawarost had indeed moved here recently. She was of the green elves, and had grown up on the banks of Teiglin near north-western Doriath. Her family had moved here to stay away from war. He was of the Sindar and had settled in Nargothrond from south, to maintain a store on behalf of his parents and brother, who traded goods both upstream and down from Nan Tathren, along both Sirion and Narog. They had met in Nargothrond and befriended. Eventually when Tawarost's brother moved to Nargothrond, he'd given up business for a quiet life with Naurgil. The work he most liked was boat-making, while she preferred keeping an orchard and small field, but they both went to the river for fish and could build simple things when need would arise.

They were sad to hear that Nargothrond was likely discovered by the enemy. It could mean that their livelihood here stood threatened.

Luthien felt tears well up in her eyes, thinking of what processes their quest for the Silmaril could unleash. If the dark lord's strike landed here, this house might be ashes soon. Naurgil and Tawarost might need to flee downstream to Nan Tathren and rebuild their life from scratch.

Life itself was uncertain and vulnerable, however. It stood threatened and could be lost. If war would arrive in Nargothrond first, it might cut them off from a southward path. If that happened, they would be able to save nothing of their household for rebuilding, and might have to dare great danger to reach relatives.

Naurgil was the first to say that perhaps, if the worst came to happen, they should stay and fight. Both of them could fight. There was an old sword and two bows on the wall. They had no plan of getting killed however. Just like she and Beren didn't.

"I mean no disrepsect to Finrod, who has helped maintain peace and achieve great prosperity here," Tawarost explained, "but sometimes personal plans must outweigh those of countries and kings. I would not make a last stand and wait to be encircled."

"Neither would I," Naurgil spoke. "I would proceed south through densest forest, and if orcs came my way, I would do what I must with them. I would not go to meet them in open fields, nor would I retreat behind walls and gates. I would feel like a target without freedom of making my own move."

They spoke of lighter topics too, like what the season had brought and which fish lived in the river. Naurgil recommended which berries and mushrooms to notice on the way north.

Finally it happened that she asked where Beren and Luthien had come from. He told of the failed defense of Dorthonion, of elves and humans falling before innumerable legions of orcs. Of his father and their band of rebels. Of their discovery and fight to death, and of his slow escape southward over the Mountains of Terror.

When her time came, Luthien said that her parents had always lived in Doriath from its beginning. She said that her father had met her mother in the Years of the Stars, before the great travel west. Naurgil seemed not aware of the significance of her story, but Tawarost seemed to be matching it up with things he knew.

"So when Beren proposed to marry me, my father demanded the impossible to keep us apart. We decided to try the impossible."

Eventually Tawarost said. "There is only one Luthien of Doriath whom I have heard of and who resembles you. Rumours mentioning her have traveled along the rivers."

"I'm afraid that I am that Luthien. Neither am I proud of my father, nor would I have sworn to do this without his demands. I am not proud of this, for my actions could plunge other people's lives into danger and disarray. Stopping here in your household has made me terribly aware of possible consequences. Up there in the north, a wrong word or a look in the wrong direction can mean our death, or make targets out of places where we came from. Tell me please if you disapprove of this quest, for only some things are irreversible at the moment. Future can still be altered."

The silence was longer than usual, before Tawarost replied.

"I am pained to hear of such trouble with thick-headed parents. Ours were understanding and supportive. How the world turns, however, is not ours to foresee. An attack from the north might come anyway, any day when he deems himself ready. Peace against the force that dwells there... has always been flimsy. I am not a warrior and wouldn't pledge myself to fight for a king, but even I have contributed to the city's defenses. Do what you must, take care doing it right. Whether good or ill will result from it... I cannot determine, and surely you can't either. Even if you've been forced to take this course, and it may not be a wise course... the course you are taking is just."

"I couldn't say it more precisely," Naurgil added. "But if you find yourself facing certain death, please don't risk it. That stone is accursed anyway, and retreiving it may not do anyone much good. The one who holds it deserves to be opposed and overcome... but in your place, I would not go there to take it."

Luthien thanked them and Beren, who had fallen silent at her story, likewise did. They promised to take care.


	5. Tumhalad, future and past

They awoke early. Naurgil and Tawarost offered them bread and soup which they were grateful for, since it left supplies in their backpacks untouched. Beren consulted with Tawarost about how much it would be appropriate to leave and gave two small silver coins. They started moving while mist still flowed in the valley and sun had barely risen.

Near the village, two elves with fishing rods were seen heading towards the river. Fish were not concealing their existence, instead making loud splashes when hunting insects near the surface, and occasionally chasing each other.

They also met a squad of soldiers returning from the Guarded Plains, likely heading to Nargothrond for rest. These were the outskirts of Finrod's realm, and sparsely populated. Guards were rotated regularly and messages sent either by bird or horse to confirm whether life on the plains was usual or not.

By mid-day, they had reached Tumhalad, a mildly forested region where the river Ginglith joined with Narog on its western bank. Beren and Luthien were riding on the eastern side. Farms had almost disappeared, but the last inn was still about a day's ride off. They planned to reach it by the evening.

Day had become incredibly hot, making air shimmer and sweat pour. They decided to have lunch on the hills overlooking the rivers.

"The bridge over Ginglith looks so flimsy and narrow," Beren mused. "Surely Finrod has the capacity to build better than that."

"I think they consider this a territory which could be attacked. Otherwise there would be a stone bridge. You cannot run a troll across this bridge of vines. Even two horsemen cannot cross it at the same time. That makes it possible to hold for longer, or to burn if holding proves impossible."

Birches and elm were providing good cover against the sun, and Luthien asked if Beren would stay on look-out while she had a nap.

He did so, and she slept an hour while horses grazed.

Beren watched birds and clouds. He noticed an eagle circling high and crows chasing off a falcon, to be mobbed themselves by swallows when the show came close to their nests in the riverbank.

He observed two horsemen speeding upstream along the road and an ox-cart slowly coming back, loaded with vegetables. Likewise came a boat with cargo of dried timber and a barge of fresly cut wood trailing behind. That shipment might be going to the sawmills in the canyon, or as far down as the sea. Further north, forest became coniferous and pines grew straight and tall. Ship-builders at the estuary of Sirion valued such wood for masts, keels and beams. Beren wondered what the sea would look like, but the curiosity was not pressing... he knew the sea was impressive, but had more effect on elves, who could sense a little of what lay beyond the horizon.

He had never been there. Would he ever be there? Who knew... as long as he had Luthien by his side, it didn't really matter if there were roads or paths, fields or forests, mountains or lakes.

"Hello. You asked me to awaken you if shadows would grow longer."

Luthien was already half-awake. "Thank you. And I see that weather has improved a bit. Such heat is a bit more than I prefer, I didn't know it occurred so far up along the river. I think that while it lasts, we should travel mostly in morning and evening, resting at noon and night."

He agreed that it made sense. "But when we enter into dangerous territories, we may need to change this."

"By the way, I had a dream."

She told Beren that this place had a evoked a strange premonition in her. It felt like something bad might happen here, some day in future. Her dream had varied. Luthien said that she usually didn't dream of battles, but had seen one. An army had been retreating across the narrow wooden bridge. She felt it was an elvish army, yet had seen many humans. A human rider with a black sword and a glistening dwarvish helm had commanded the defense of the bridge-head. Great numbers of orcs had attempted taking the bridge, raining spears on defenders, even rocks launched from troll-back. Their wooden obstacles and shields held off the worst. Finally a company of elvish archers came in hurry, marching downstream along Narog's western bank at pace that would exhaust. Their intervention forced the orcs to retreat. Their captain said the king had fallen, and his company was the only that broke out. Something bad was coming. They quickly crossed, abandoned their defenses and set fire to the bridge.

"When the king was mentioned, I failed to recognize his name. I think it wasn't Finrod. Still those archers bore the signs of Nargothrond. But they weren't Finrod's men. I feel as if I'd seen a dissipating mist... ghosts of some future that has long lurked awaiting, but now drifts weak and dislodged. Wind blows the echo of this future still around the riverbank, but I think it will be blown away."

They rode onwards.

At the last inn, at the last bridge across Narog, they would switch over to traveling on foot. Many roads would end here. Landscape became wild and unfavourable to traveling by horse. Plants to graze on likewise became scarce. Supplies would need to be carried for horses to stay healthy. Nothing still was this compared to the desolate forts that the Noldor had held around Angband, and fairly familiar to Beren's home Dorthonion... yet they would head north towards Ivrin and Nevrast, and that was not the direction to go on horseback.

For safety, they would also cross the bridge to the western bank of Narog. Where the Guarded Plains ended, bands of orcs could be encountered scouting sometimes, mostly along eastern banks. Orcs avoided the western side to have a path of escape. It was not their land. They came but feared these parts... as much as elves feared permanently living here. Green elves did live in these woods, but you wouldn't see them until your nose touched their arrow-point.

Beren and Luthien had found the post-master and per agreement with Finrod, gave their horses into his care.

He would either send them back downstream, getting other horses in return, or if luck favoured, keep them long enough for them to return.

The post-master had been a curious man, but somehow they didn't feel it was right talking to him of their journey. It felt he was too well connected, and if he enjoyed too much wine with too many companions, half the world might soon learn of their objective.

Luthien had brought bread from the inn and was sitting on a tree-trunk that had fallen into the river, at a pool of some depth, upstream from a small mill. Beren had asked if she would try to catch fish, but Luthien said she merely wanted to see them.

Naurgil had told her of spectacular big chubs that lazily swam in groups, inhabiting slow-flowing places. These had good eyesight and were too attentive, she had said. There would be no chance of trying to catch them without a net. As soon as one of them noticed something wrong, the rest would follow suit and become suspicious.

Luthien was apparently not anything particularly threatening, in their opinion. She sat very still and wasn't dressed brightly, clad in robes of blue and gray. It was merely her fingers that occasionally moved, when she tore a piece of bread, positioned it and flicked it into flight. With an arc it landed multiple steps off, and curious fish soon came to examine it. At first they would push it with their noses, then snatch it, dive and travel some distance with it, and finally of course bread was eaten.

"They do look just as big as she claimed," Beren said in a hushed voice from the riverbank.

"I didn't think they could grow so big. We had some in Doriath too, but smaller in number and less impressive. Our river-folk mostly lived off trout. These also keep an eye on surface, but they never swim together in great numbers. If you see two trouts together, you must be examining a fisherman's sack or it must be spawning season," she smiled.

When bread had run out, they went to the inn.

Some elves were still tasting wine in the great hall. Beren and Luthien had eaten, but sat and listened to stories.

Most of them were merchants' stories, for it was foremost merchants who needed to stay at inns, but also soldiers moving between assignments and people visiting distant relatives. A human and an elf staying together was drawing some curious glances, but wasn't enough to divert talk. The topic of the day here too was Nargothrond, and whether Finrod was out of his mind or simply prudent and cautious.

"I say he is doing it properly", said a dark-haired elf with Feänor's eight-pointed star on the sleeves of his jacket, and brooches indicating some Noldorin rank.

"We manned the fort of Tol Sirion back about eighty years ago, under Orodreth's command. We should have worried when it became too calm. We should have been worried on the midsummer night when we were celebrating. It was such a calm night. One could hear a twig crack across the river... no wind blew... sky was cloudy, though at some point, distant lighting moved in clouds. When that light seemed to fly in a straight line over our fort, alarms should have been blown. Armories should have been emptied and maille put on top of clothes. Wine should have been taken back to cellars."

He paused.

"Please do tell us more," a Sindarin warrior from the same table inquired.

"It's a sad story. I stopped to consider if I wanted to ruin the mood," the Noldo said.

"Guards merely marveled at the light as it passed in clouds, and didn't blow the alarm. They only blew the alarm when a bright ball lightning returned, did a circle around our fort and with a terrible clap went into the eastward gate's mechanism, melting steel like wax and burning oak like hay. It didn't disappear, though. It hovered above the gate, preventing any attempt to somehow block the entrance. Then, great wolves came fast and silent, running across the bridge. We could barely form ranks. Those who had armor tried to buy us time. We could fight the wolves, but we could not fight the fire that circled in our courtyard, blinding us, deafening us, distracting us. It spoke in the voices of our brothers and sisters, our children and lovers. It broke down our system of signals and impersonated commanders, caused hallucinations to be fought and real enemies to go unnoticed... until the bats came. Bats big as eagles, commanded by a woman with steel claws and wings. And finally orcs landed on barges and boats. We lost the fight before it really had begun. We lost Tol Sirion in one and half hours. I saw my closest friend die, and my comrades took me by boat down the Sirion and up to Nargothrond, half-blind and poisoned. I was weak and ill for a year, but I remember that Finrod was among the first to question me, when healers permitted. He did visit his brother's bedside first, but then went around questioning everyone, making notes. I'd say he has kept these notes and received others too."

After the story was finished, mood was indeed darkened. Everyone was reminded, in their own way, that life was not guaranteed to be happy - everything could turn for the worse tomorrow, or even today.

The effect it had on Beren and Luthien, was to bring them closer together. That night they slept in each other's embrace, Beren enjoying Luthien's cooler skin and Luthien liking his warmth. Likewise did desire arise in both of them, inviting to express their love for each other in more and more ways, but they talked and determined together - now was not an appropriate time. Understanding of the peril they were walking towards reminded to be careful. Desire calmed and the comfort of sleep prevailed.


	6. Fast to rise

They walked the whole next day along the western bank of Narog, finding berries to be picked and a few inedible mushrooms.

Dusk was well underway and they were considering if a small clearing was safe for staying overnight, when Luthien suddenly said. "Stop. I can hear something approach", grabbing for her bow.

Beren stilled and now even he could hear something.

Luthien had already reached for an arrow when a dog almost as tall as her poked its gray-haired head out from between bushes and carefully looked at them. Luthien let her arrow fall back into its quiver and brought her hand down. The dog looked, understood and took a few steps forward.

"Hello, I am Luthien. Surely you don't walk here alone?"

The dog laid down in the undergrowth and raised its head, letting out a little howl.

"Its people will arrive soon," she said, "and I think they are Eldar. In fact, I think this dog is not from Arda, but has come a very long journey here. I think this is one of Orome's companions, which can only mean that Celegorm is nearby. He lives in Nargothrond after they helped defend Tol Sirion during the previous attack against it. They previously lived in Himlad, east of Dorthonion."

Beren was quite curious about the huge dog. "Can you tell, Luthien, how old might he be?"

"I think he doesn't age. Orome wouldn't be hunting with mortal dogs. As far as I know, animals in Valinor don't die of age, though they do hunt each other and reproduce to fill the gaps... or maybe Namo knows what happens more precisely, and where the line is drawn, for annual plants do wither and die even there. I didn't attempt prying all the details from my mother, but merely asked her to confirm it wasn't a fairy-tale," she smiled.

"Wow. I'm asking because among my people, similar dogs have appeared through some way or manner. They are the biggest of all, but they age the fastest of their kind. Given about seven summers, they are old and weary. Given ten, almost none remain. They say that a flame that burns bright, burns out fast."

"Can you tell me, doggy, are you one of Orome's fluffy friends?" The dog made a little nod.  
"Then this flame burns bright, but doesn't perish."  
"He understands speech?"  
"Orome's dogs can understand language, though they are very rarely heard speaking."

Luthien sat next to the dog, and let it sniff her clothes. The dog licked her hand and she started combing its hair with her fingers, which it apparently liked. A whistle could be heard, to which Luthien answered with a Sindarin "Hello!". A horse neighed and soon two elvish hunters found their way to the clearing.

"See, I told you this must be something interesting," one of the hunters said to the other, before proceeding. "Hello, and please let me express my surprise, for rarely does anyone except hunters and rangers venture into this forest, and least of all was I expecting both a human and and elf, and a woman too."

"We are likewise pleasantly surprised," Luthien spoke for the both of them, "for I was expecting a wolf, but then a hunting dog from Valinor stuck its head out of the bushes. I am Luthien of Doriath and this is Beren, son of Barahir. I have met Curufinwe before, please take no offense, but are you Tyelkormo? I bring greetings from Finrod and Celebrimbor."

"Just call me Tyelko, thank you, and my surprise is also great, and moreso pleasant. We were tracking what we considered a werewolf, but it was clever and slipped from our senses. I knew how Huan behaves when he finds something surprising, and I was expecting to find some victim of the beast."

He dismounted and walked to Huan, patting and thanking him, "Well done."

That was when Luthien asked "Can you please tell, were you intending to stay the night nearby? Or can you advise, is this clearing a reasonable place to make fire and set up a tent?"

Tyelko spoke after some hesitation.

"To give my utmost honesty, then without all of us present, I would not advise to camp in such places. A werewolf is a terrible adversary even if you go looking for it. However, if one such beast should find you first, then it is far better if you have five companions, all armed. Together with Huan, who is armed with sharp teeth, there is five of us. But a tent would be a mistake. Our custom is to leave horses and dogs on ground, and stay up trees during night. This way, if our animals are attacked, we can instantly intervene."

"Thank you for the warning. While I know of werewolves, I'm not used to such precautions. We in Doriath have typically taken turns keeping watch, but I understand that in these parts of land, that is not sufficient."

"I've seen some werewolves, unfortunately," Beren said. "And I would have advised the same measures as Tyelko. The creatures I saw on Tol Sirion were great and skillful."

"You've been to Tol Sirion?", Curufin asked.

"Yes. We tried passing through the valley with Finrod and a small company of his warriors. Finrod crafted an illusion making us look like Orcs, but the nameless one who dwells there saw it through. We were almost taken captive and I was inches from my life's end, but Finrod strove with him in songs, repelling his assault, asking the river to flood and the island to start breaking. Faced with mutual destruction, the lord of werewolves abandoned the island and retreated to the eastern shore. We thought that resultingly, the western path would be safer to travel."

"Now that is quite a story", Celegorm said, "but what on good earth were you doing, poking that nest of wasps? Not without five hundred warriors would I have gone there."

"I was on a mission northwards," Beren explained, "which is covert, more than a little foolish and very dangerous. I wish you would not ask its precise nature. I consulted with Finrod and he believed this approach might work. Or alternatively, perhaps he believed himself more capable there, rather than elsewhere."

"Ai, Valar, Finrod and his songs," Curufin exclaimed. "I think he overestimates his skill a bit, if he thinks he can break open the pass of Sirion with nice words. We barely held it with the remains of two armies."

"I have heard of that feat," Luthien said. "You helped save Orodreth from being overrun during the great war, did you not?"

"Just a great battle in an endless war, but so it went. We asked for shelter, having marched many days westward from Himlad, where the pass of Aglon was likewise overrun. With thousands of orcs pounding on his other door, his choice of which door to open and which guests to offer breakfast, was quick and uncomplicated," Curufin grinned. "Thus was the pass of Sirion spared on that day."

"If all guests arrived with such good timing, life might be like picking flowers," Beren nodded, with a smile tinted with sadness and regret. "My father's company tried to desperately hold a bit of Dorthonion. They couldn't. The nameless one found us. I was spared by accident."

Luthien stayed silent. She felt inexperienced and weak among people who had all seen their comrades die, all fought against insurmountable odds. She knew she had strength of another kind, knowledge acquired, skills learned and talent inherited, but never had she tested these... except against her own father's guards. Even Beren, four hundred years younger than her, had seen more strife than any life should contain.

They made a fire. Celegorm and Curufin offered to roast a hare, while Luthien brought forth the plentiful raspberries she had found at a thicket's edge during noon and they had collected. Beren asked the hunters if they wished for water or wine, and they preferred to taste the brewed sweets of Nargothrond. He also unpacked some bars of the dwarven travel-food, guessing correctly the excitement this novelty would cause. Both hunters tasted it with grins and rolling eyes, but admitted it was good and practical.

"Trust the Naugrim to presume that nothing can be caught or found. When these travel, they look like they are planning to chop their way through a block of rock for a year. Such is the amount of equipment that comes along," Tyelko laughed while glancing at Beren's and Luthien's backpacks.

"One has to admit that it sometimes looks amusing," Luthien responded, "but they have their reasons. We have hosted some of them in Menegroth for long, but still they are not particularly talkative. I wish, though part of me cautions that my wish could be fulfilled... I wish I understood their viewpoint. I cannot know what times they've faced, here on Arda in their mountains, while darkness ruled the land above."

Curufin nodded, sipping more wine. He had seen the land they took back from Morgoth. It was no easy sight. He'd seen and talked with slaves they freed, human and elf... no dwarf. Dwarves were not the kind to let anything slip or anyone fall from formation. There were three backup plans at least. Among the folk under mountains, very little trust was placed in anything that wasn't built by kin, tested for a hundred times and the only copy of drawings double-checked before burning. When dwarves became allies and came to battle along elves, it became apparent that they were emotionally different too. They didn't maneuver much. They came like a miller comes to work, and starts hauling sacks of grain from one store room into another. They proceeded at their pace, burdened with equipment, and dug their way into enemy formations as if splitting stone. Speed depended on resistance. It didn't seem to matter much whether orcs ran towards them, or ran away. They cursed and fought, cursed and fell, cursed still and died. And to disarm a dwarf, one would need to find all the approximately twenty knives they had somehow hidden within reach. You didn't take them prisoner. You didn't pry their knowledge from their hands, from their writings, or from their mind.

"By the way, I noticed something particularly impressive that your son built together with Faldin," she tried to bring the talk to sometihing less gloomy. "It was not just a forge on wheels, but a forge that outshone all ordinary forges. It sprang like out of nowhere and suddenly they were welding together pipes like treetrunks."

"Oh, I know him, they are friends, yes," Curufin replied, "...though I sometimes worry for my son. Friendship can carry us aloft on new experiences and ideas, and bring great comfort into our lives, but I fear it will break his heart... to discover that dwarves only live two centuries. I've said to him..."

At that point, Curufin had second thoughts and stopped his sentence, understanding the implication it would have on his companions.  
Beren and Luthien were silent too.  
They switched to lighter topics.

The hare was roasted and they ate and drank.

Night seemed already turning lighter when Celegorm finally asked, "But what are you doing here, Luthien? Surely the forests of the north are no place for a woman, least of all someone as fair as you."

"I have decided to join Beren on his mission. I fear that alone he may fail, but together we have some chance of success."

"I am impressed, but it only makes me more curious about this mission. Surely you need all the assistance you can?"

"It is somewhat sensitive. You see, my father asked him to bring him..."

Luthien stopped and looked at Beren. He nodded.

"...to bring him a Silmaril from Morgoth."

"But you can't! That would be madness! You won't get halfway and will die, or be taken and live a life worse than a thousand deaths! Surely you must know what he is capable of shaping people into?"

"Trust me, we both know... and we know the chances are bleak."

"Then surely you can see, you cannot do this!"

"That was Thingol's demand for letting us marry."

Curufin silently looked down and didn't say a word, but Celegorm seemed to grow even more agitated.

"Then Thingol is a fool, and a destructive fool. He cannot order you to certain death! He cannot order you to bring what is not his!"

"To be honest, it was not an order, just a very stupid demand. I have already defied his order by joining with Beren on this quest. I genuinely think this can be done."

"Then think again. It cannot be done and I forbid you from doing it. You matter too much, and the Silmaril is not for you to take."

"I would wish to argue against that. People matter because of what they do, not because of who they are. I have yet done little of consequence... thus very little can I matter on the large scale. I know however that every action has consequences, and this might provoke the wrath of the enemy. But likewise does every test passed make you stronger, and I wish to gain that strength, to make a difference. I want to join the fight against the enemy unlike my parents who guard their realm. I want to influence future. It doesn't matter if my father gets to see the Silmaril for an hour or a day. I can return it to your people, who are its rightful owners. If you can offer help, I think we should gladly accept it."

At that, Celegorm somewhat calmed.

"Curufinwe, do you think we can escort them northwards? Are there any, *any* forts at all, on the path northwards from here, held by our people?"  
"There are none. None at all. But green elves do live..."  
"There, you see. No forts, just a few hidden houses, at most a village."

Luthien saw it indeed.

"We are not intending to rely on force of arms. I really wish I could tell you more, but some of my plan I must keep to my own knowledge."  
"Please believe her, she's not the daughter of Melian in title only", Beren tried to back her up.

"I cannot. I cannot in my right mind believe that a woman and a mortal are seriously considering... I can't. You are destroying youselves!"  
"Then perhaps the question should be, am I allowed to destroy myself, and is Beren allowed to destroy himself?", Luthien asked.

Celegorm didn't bend.

"I cannot speak for Beren, for he's of mortal kind, but no, you should not be allowed to destroy yourself."

That was when Beren spoke.

"Then I will speak for myself, so listen.  
No fewer than a hundred of Morgoth's creatures have I dispatched of this world during my short forty years.  
I may be unlearned, yet Luthien is not.  
She's no weaker than me in flesh, and far stronger in mind.  
Do not bicker with her about whether she's allowed to risk danger.  
If she is not, neither are you allowed to."

"This is unacceptable, I demand you apologize!"

At that point, Curufin seemed to awaken and looked in horrified amazement at events, doing nothing. Before Luthien could say the next word, Celegorm had jumped to his feet, hand moving quickly to draw his dagger. Beren did not stay still, but started to likewise rise, trying to find the sword blindly from behind him, missing it by multiple inches. Time stopped flowing at the ordinary pace for Luthien.

It suddenly became very silent. She was feeling dizzy but overcame it. Movements of limbs painted lines, hinting of future and past. The dagger glistened upon leaving its sheath. He would not just draw it. He had noticed Beren fumble for the sword, and he would throw the dagger.

What happened next, happened in an instant. Celegorm brought the dagger back in a circling motion, while Luthien did likewise with her clay cup. Beren had managed to barely stand up, and notice what had started, when everything was already finished.

The cup shattered in Celegorm's face with a bang and a cloud of shards, and the dagger aimed at Beren landed in Luthien's right shoulder. She had tried to grab it from flight, but leant too far and too late.

Celegorm fell like a log, unconcious from the strike. Curufin tried to catch him, but only managed to touch him when he hit ground. Huan awoke and jumped to his feet, but then froze and didn't know what to do. Then Luthien fell, turning, moving her other arm to brake her descent. She tumbled down somehow, remaining half-sitting, closing her eyes. Her lips were moving but no words formed.

"Lay down, slowly. I will support you."

She didn't reply, but let got, and he brought her down slowly.

"Don't pull it out. It's in my shoulder artery. I need time to work on myself. If I lose consciousness, raise my legs onto something. If you must pull it out, apply pressure at once."

At that, she squeezed her eyes shut and again seemed to be saying something unheard. Curufin was tending to Celegorm, who had started to regain consciousness and was bleeding profusely. Huan was nowhere to be seen.


	7. Getting back on feet

At that moment, with Luthien turning all of her attention inward, and Celegorm not yet fully awake, Beren and Curufin looked at each other.

"I wish I had chosen different words. I'm sorry for my part in starting this."

"Don't be", Curufin replied. "You behaved appropriately while Tyelko didn't. Sad I am to admit this, but my brother is unpredictable. At one moment, he's happy and you'd never guess what flows below the surface. Next moment, he explodes, cannot take no for an answer, cannot take his authority being questioned... and he cannot carry his wine. I wish I had foreseen this."

"Perhaps if I hadn't provoked..."

"Perhaps. But there is no guarantee. I think it all turned for the worse when he learnt of your mission. You have a good companion at your side. I hope her injury can be mended. And please know: very few on this earth are fast enough to deal with my brother from a late start."

Beren looked back at Luthien. She was touching the area around the dagger with her healthy hand, and still existed in some unseen world of her own, speaking without pronouncing a single word. He tried to read her lips, but lip-reading Sindarin was a vain affair. He couldn't have properly read the lips of a fellow human speaking his native tongue.

He bent his head close to Luthien's chest and... almost jumped. At some distance to her, he had started seeing visions. Visions of things he couldn't understand, but which might have been, no, could have only been... the inner workings of a living body. He held her gently, but didn't approach to that distance again, understanding that whatever craft she was using to influence herself, was not meant to be shared or interfered with.

"Did I... hit her instead?" were the first words Celegorm could pronounce.

"You did, but not before she evened the score with you. Calm. I'm trying to stop your head from bleeding," Curufin explained, soaking a piece of fabric with some liquid and pressing Celegorm's face with it. "You might have fractures. How do you feel?"

"I feel as if someone had clubbed me. I can't sense a fracture. What happened to her?"

"Your dagger hit her shoulder. It went deep and pierced the artery, but the wound is not open and much blood hasn't flown. She is trying to mend it and I will likewise try. Here, keep this pressed firmly against your forehead and brow."

When Curufin turned towards Luthien, she sensed it, opened her eyes and spoke.

"I think I'm ready now. Please hold your hand onto the site of entry and pull it by one inch. Prevent the blade from slipping upwards, or it might slice through. Just an inch. No more."

"Do you need herbs to lessen pain?"

"No. I have pain and blood pressure under good control. It's the wound I worry about. If lots of blood starts flowing, it will have to be pressed hard, and that will break the clots I've built to keep blood within its vessel."

He laid his left hand against the sides of the wound and withdrew the blade by a little. Seeing Curufin's hands move, Beren realized why Luthien had asked the elf, not him. Curufin acted with machine-like calmness and precision. Emotion didn't make his hands tremble, risk didn't make him tense. In his thousands of years, he had seen such situations. Perhaps even exactly this situation.

Luthien gritted teeth and her face formed a grimace, but then she calmed and said "thanks" in a hushed voice, bringing her hand once again to the site of the wound, where blood was now pulsing out. From the wound of a human, blood would have rushed, quickly depriving the body. Luthien closed her eyes and soon, the flow slowed. Beren held her hand and noticed how unusually cold she was. Also, there was almost no pulse. Luthien was deliberately bringing herself close to shutting down. When heartbeat lacked all strength, blood couldn't tear its way out.

"I need a few more minutes before the next attempt", she whispered.

"Take as many as you need," Curufin said and turned his attention back to his brother.

"Beren?", she whispered.

"I'm here. How are you?"

"I'm tired but I think we can get it out. Can you find something from my backpack? Looking at the back side, in the left upper pocket, quite near the top is a small pack of bottles. One of them is made from a glass of bluish tint. That's the liquid that glues wounds shut. Please bring that, and a roll of clean cloth that you'll find below it, in the same pocket. Discard the two outer layers of the roll. Do you have boiled and cooled water?"

Beren confirmed that there was water, and found the bottle quickly. She asked Curufin to pull the blade by yet another inch. It was less painful and she felt less bleeding. For a few more minutes, Luthien retreated to her inner world, telling her blood vessels to relax and heart to calm, for clotting to become hyperactive near the wound, and dissolution of clots to occur elsewhere. Imagining herself as going along the bloodflow, she felt an obstacle. The blood vessel was partially cut and obstructed. The blade however was withdrawn from it.

"I think it's safe to pull it out. When Curufin pulls the blade, I want you to immediately flush the wound with water first, then wipe it dry, pour the glue on it, and apply about three layers of fabric."

They did so, and the glue worked, stopping blood instantly and sticking to moist skin. It was a special mixture from the sap of a herb and a mineral that preserved its potency. She felt relief. She wouldn't have full use of her right hand for a week, maybe even two, but this was not severe.

"Thank you. Please tell me, did I hurt your brother badly? Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You hurt him somewhat, but didn't endanger his life. He overstepped the bounds. If a person pulls a dagger, they should be glad to have mere cups thrown at them. You are exhausted however, I can see and feel that. Help yourself foremost for now, and when you heal, that will help others."

She nodded and didn't speak more, thinking of what could be done. Nothing more came to her mind. Luthien asked Beren to watch over her. "If I should start rolling in my sleep, please awaken me, or I'll hurt myself." He promised to do that, repacked their supplies and sat at Luthien's side, watching her. She slept calmly and he felt a wish to gently touch her hand, but didn't want to disturb. Morning was not far away.

* * *

When Curufin rode back to his side, he asked "Did you see Huan?"

"No. I did a circle, whistling and calling him regularly."

"I think he's gone home and we should follow. No point looking for that wolf in such condition, without a dog. On a positive note, I can now infiltrate packs of goblins and only my height will draw suspicion. I can explain that with being a mutant."

With all the bandages Curufin had applied to his forehead, Celegorm's claim looked only somewhat exaggerated. "Do you know, will they go forward?", he asked.

"Yes. I spoke with Beren and he said they would try."

"Then, that was the last we saw of them," he said and paused. "I wish this would have gone differently. I kind of liked her."

"I wish that too... and you have work that awaits you, brother. Work involving your self-control. Better late than never... and perhaps we should have picked water. You don't throw daggers at people you "kind of like"."

"Well, I threw it at Beren, because I didn't want him to draw a sword... but yes, I understand I shouldn't have. I still think anything should be done to stop them... but let's not return there. They are free people and under no obligation indeed. It was wrong of me to get agitated and to draw a blade."

"And to throw it without stopping to think."

He wanted to say something, but understood what rationalizing deeds after facts tended to accomplish.

"And that."

Celegorm was still trying to piece together that night. Elvish memory was perfect even after a concussion, but he couldn't reconstruct his feelings. Something in the words Beren had said, or in the manner of saying them, had incredibly angered him. While he now understood it was wrong, then he hadn't.

Some of it had to do with wine... some with words... and some with who Beren was (an elf of forty years would be considered a child). He knew humans lived incredibly fast, considered adult by the time elves were no longer toddlers... even orcs had longer lifespans, though the orcish way of life often excluded using those.

It was something else than age... something he couldn't point at. Or perhaps he could. Perhaps it was envy. Perhaps it was the question of why Luthien of Doriath, who doubtless had made an impression on many men (although few would dare to come forth with their feelings)... had accidentally chosen the barely literate son of a defeated minor chieftain from a region overrun by the enemy. And a human. He could accompany her for fifty years at most... how she planned to spend the rest of her millennia, was a prudent question to ask. Even if she survived his passing and didn't fade away, how many of those years would she grieve?

Perhaps it was envy mixed with reason. To try stopping Beren and Luthien from going, was entirely rational. But doing that like he had, was wrong and inexcusable. Why had he done yesterday what had no excuse today?

* * *

She tried and felt defeat. The shoulder simply hurt too much. Muscles and ligaments had been torn.

"I cannot lift my backpack."

Beren went though alternatives in his mind, He'd already loaded a third of Luthien's pack into his own. It would get lighter as days went by, but... they couldn't make the trip without supplies.

"What worries me even more, is whether I can cross rivers with rope. I can wield a dagger with my left hand easily, but a bow requires two hands. I've become a burden who can't carry her weight."

She was right, and their plan was coming loose at seams. Forest would become thicker from here forward, until eventually soil turned sandy and climate cool enough for pines. In fact, forest would become literal thickets pretty soon. Thickets were places that elves crossed with relative ease, but humans didn't.

Beren had learned a fair amount of how to plan his steps, but Luthien easily exceeded that. With Luthien injured and only able to look after herself, Beren with an oversized backpack would struggle against obstacles like a drunk dwarf on a starless night.

She suggested that he lend her the shoulder-piece of his armor. Plate metal would distribute the weight. Underneath the armor, multiple layers of soft cloth could be placed. Beren was holding the backpack and Luthien trying to fit it onto her shoulders without hurting herself, when someone suddenly said.

"Don't worry. I can carry it easily. In fact, I can carry both of them easier than only one."

Beren felt like his abiliy of speech had left him and fled to Huan. Luthien was a bit more used to speaking animals.

"But, should you not go home to Nargothrond?"

"I shouldn't. I don't know what my purpose in this strange world is, but it definitely isn't hunting others. Yes, I am very good at hunting, I can sense other animals from great distance and even the fiercest predators are merely my equals, but I have... gone astray. I was not supposed to come here. Loyalty to my master compelled me to come, but he is not the same person that he used to be, when he and Orome were friends. That pains me. I have tried offering him comfort and friendship, and sometimes he accepts it, but he doesn't change. Or perhaps he does, but not for the better. When I saw what happened, I understood that time had come to choose. I want to travel with you and help you travel safer. Please accept my help. But please know also, that I cannot speak many times in my life. It was foretold that I can speak three times, and should do so only if need is great."


	8. Distant glimmer

"At least, green elves will sing songs about me," Glorfindel said to himself.

"But those will be laments and songs of caution, about a barbarian clad in grey metal, who came down over mountains, hateful of all things alive; had somehow acquired Finarfin's sword, and with said instrument, proceeded to defile the Pools of Ivrin, slaughtering fish and hacking wantonly at pines."

He was hacking at dry pines though, not intending to lay waste to all the place.

The pike he had noticed in shallow water and crept up upon, and speared the fish with his sword. Besides the pike, his reserves were down to three apples.

Glorfindel just needed enough pine-trunks to carry him afloat, enough twigs to bind them together, and long pole for balancing and pushing.

Finarfin's sword was a magnificent weapon, spoken of fearfully and in hushed voices among enemies, perhaps because of what it could, and perhaps because its owner usually knew the way to wield it... but for cutting wood, it was a nonsensical tool. Despite wrapping the sword-handle in cloth and doing other tricks, Glorfindel's both hands ached. He had two suitable treetrunks out of four. Unless he wanted blisters, he should not work overnight.

Thus he was currently roasting the pike above coals, and had turned to look over his shoulder. Some instinct or educated guess reminded that eating by a fire was a likely moment to get surprised.

He saw nothing, but still switched his position over. He would now sit with his back towards the fire and the pool, with his eyes scanning the forest. Night was falling and this way was safer. Flames illuminated trees to a distance of over a hundred steps, and anyone trying to creep up to him in water, would have to jump at him over the fire.

He slept a bit with his eyes and ears open to the world. He could hear bats fly catching insects. Their high-pitched voices were easy to follow as they screamed loud to navigate. These were not warbats bred by the enemy, but harmless forest critters roosting inside treetrunks. Which of their ancestors had been taken and twisted, he didn't know, but their flight behaviour still was the same.

* * *

Glorfindel's thoughts went back to Thuringwethil. Her flight, the short glimpse of it he'd seen, was different from that of bats. Her flight had relied on eyes, not hearing.

She reminded of reports which had arrived to Gondolin by many bounces, three centuries ago. Reports of spies like himself, reports of warriors on missions... inaccurate reports. Some fairytales (elves did tell fairytales when confused). Reports liable to be ignored soon after reading. He had done likewise.

Some reports profiled an unnamed mortal woman. Her tribe wasn't known. Her story had traveled as a rumour among orcs, until retelling the rumour was overheard. She had crossed paths with an orc-pack in Dor-lomin. Eager to have something to torture and eat, they had moved to catch her, but she had produced a knife and a bottle, warning them. "Do not cross me. Many of you will die before me. Some will also die later, in extreme distress. Ask for my help instead."

She was either lucky or attentive. The chieftain of the pack was in dire straits. A poisoned blade-tip from a fight with an unruly subject was embedded in his thigh. Already his squad was hushing behind his back, predicting his downfall. No doubt they had plans for what sort of sausage to make from his guts.

For prey to speak so bluntly, no doubt ruffled feathers, but the chieftain was quick of wit and guessed her skills, asking if she could cure poison. She said she might. She extracted the broken blade, identified and counteracted the poison, cleaned the wound and stitched it too. Orcs aren't known for being grateful, for their culture is rotten, but they do have a large brain and are capable of adjusting. Wielders of useful and dangerous craft aren't double-crossed for fun. The chieftain asked how he could return the favour.

"Take me to your commander."

What better way could have existed to resolve this. Letting prey loose into forests would be frowned upon. If taking her to the nameless one was her wish, so be it! No footsoldier would dare to assault her either, once the chieftain had made that detail painfully clear to the first who tried.

What transpired next was already told in different rumours. She didn't disappear from records at the proper time. Her life was extended, she gained strength and vigor, grew in ability and skill... became the nameless one's personal messenger and closest in trust... learnt magic too, and paid a price. To continue her life, she would have to take lives. Who had once been a healer, became a creature inpiring fear, a vampire.

Glorfindel felt odd and looked around again. Nothing. Ability to sleep without losing attentiveness was a blessing on such occasions.

He bent his thoughts back to his home. Gondolin was the fire that warmed his heart. Going through memories to the first houses, the first mountain-streams diverted to the city, the first orchards and the first fruit on trees... it gave him patience and strength to proceed. He was not at home, but his activities far abroad permitted that home to stay informed. Gondolin would not stand alone forever, Turgon had made that clear. It was only logical too. Gondolin needed eyes and ears, or the price could be very high.

* * *

Huan offering help had saved their plans from collapsing.

Luthien went first, picking the path. Then came Beren, bending obstacles out of way and finally came Huan, one backpack on his right, the other on his left side. He could indeed carry both backpacks more easily, since they counterbalanced each other.

Walking thusly, they made good pace through the thicket and by the day's end, willows started thinning and looking weary.

"This is where the soil changes," Luthien commented.

Soil was indeed changing. Mud and clay ended in patches, replaced by sand and gravel from an ancient glacier's melting. As if an inaudible command was spoken across landscape, willows stopped growing entirely and pines appeared. Forest became easy to cross and riverbanks started rising. Narog had cut into terrain like a hot knife into butter. Slopes were not steep, as earth was loose and sharp slopes would spontaneously crumble.

They slept the night on the lower branches of a thick and twisted solitary pine. It grew on a hilltop overlooking the river valley. They made no fire and spoke in hushed voices. This position was safe from surprise, but could be noticed from great distance.

It had been Beren's first time to help Luthien climb a tree. Usually it was Luthien helping him. Beren was scanning the horizon with Finrod's seeing-glass. He had originally offered it to Luthien, but her hand was still painful and she suggested that Beren's night vision was better.

He was looking north at the foothills of Ered Wethrin, the mountains of shadow, hoping to see some sign of the pools of Ivrin, when he saw dim light instead. A flicker, dull yellow appearing now and then.

"Can you assist me, beloved? I think I see a flame flickering in the foothills of the greatest peak, but I cannot discern any detail."

She obliged and also looked.

"I would say it's a bonfire which occasionally gets obscured, and occasionally amplified by reflecting from water. We are not seeing its flames directly. Air and water can play strange tricks with light, and send it far indeed if conditions become right. I would not expect to be seeing this. I would guess that someone have camped near the pools of Ivrin."

"If I recall correctly, it is over ten thousand steps," he commented. "I wonder if that's an enemy or a possible friend."

"It could be both. Green elves it definitely isn't. They light no fires at night, except in utmost need."

"Dwarves of the mountains, perhaps?"

"The mountains aren't empty, but few dwarves live in Ered Wethrin. However, dwarves in these parts do overcome their dislike of water... and travel by the river, occasionally. It is the straight road to Nargothrond which they consider a friendly city. But they don't use boats, for rapids start immediately when the river leaves the pools. They don't swim well, and prefer to wear armor at all times. They prefer the eastern side, for plant-life is thinner there. They march by the river and carry their stuff like us, or take a cart-road away from the river, to the plains."

"Look, an owl!"

Beren had noticed it before Luthien. He pointed and she noticed the gray shape. Crakes had stopped their creaking among grass, as if knowing when the owl would fly. It flew in total silence, drawing circles on the hillside. It climbed to fifteen steps, then glided down to five... climbed again... glided... circling, searching for food. From the north it started its search, proceeding along the eastern hillside downstream to the south. They watched it silently until it turned towards the western hillside.

Luthien took the seeing-glass and checked. The fire still flickered far away.

It could be orcs. It could be dwarves. It could be trolls from the mountains - these knew how to make fire now. It could be elves of Nargothrond. Those of daring nature ventured upstream to the mountains. It could be humans, for they still lived in the lowlands of Dor-Lomin.

* * *

Night had fallen. Thuringwethil tested her wings, circling for a mile, teasing herself with the idea of finding that elf. But she had to admit... that particular elf was dangerous and she was still weak. Also, she was out of practise.

There were so few to practise with. Wolves were out of question. No matter how big and terrible, they couldn't carry armor or weapons, being incredibly vulnerable. No way existed to remedy that unbalance. She didn't understand Mairon's fascination with wolves. Perhaps only their ability to run fast and go undetected was deserving of celebration.

Orcs feared her. They wouldn't spar against her unless ordered to. Her touch made them terribly ill and without quick treatment with appropriate anti-venom, death was quick to follow. Their lives were short and they were poorly trained. She had complained to Mairon. "You train one generation and the next forgets it", was the pattern in his replies. Orcs were expendable.

Trolls were worse than useless, although not easily poisoned. There was no point in training against them, unless you wanted to prepare for an assault of stupidity.

Balrogs were... prideful and considered her beneath them. A mortal hanging by a thread of blood onto eternal life. A woman, too. The fire-demons were an exclusive boys' club, and to be honest, sparring with them would be incredibly complicated. They outweighed Thuringwethil by tens of times - she would have to use her skill of flight to fullest extent. They with their useless wing-stubs would rely on fire-swords and whips. It was a stalemate asking to happen, no matter how you arranged it. She would not be cornered, but mounting a credible attack against a balrog would be her end.

That left prisoners and Mairon.

Prisoners she did practise with, before she drank their blood to sustain her life. But prisoners were boring. They were hurt, defeated, humans were unskilled while elves were far too willing to flee to Mandos, entirely capable of turning weapons at themselves, spoiling her meal, mocking her. These days, she didn't needlessly play with prisoners any more. She explained them the deal and let them choose. Very few would choose to fight for a promise of freedom, so hopeless were the odds. A few of her late dinners would grant them quick and painless passage away from this broken world. Most protested, but saw how it was an improvement over treatment offered by orcs. A select few she would consider for recommending to Mairon, who could turn them alike her, but prisoners weren't the right people to do recruitment among.

For sparring, that left Mairon then.

Mairon could fly as an eagle today, charge as an oliphaunt tomorrow, impersonate a fire-serpent next week (there was no poison in her toolkit that these couldn't drink a bucket of), turn into a battle-troll with smarts to match the strength... and likewise assume human and elvish form.

Mairon as an elf was the really bad case. Her reflexes were faster and strength above that of humans. When Mairon fought her as a human, he typically lost. As a dwarf, he held his ground but was unable to attack. When he fought as an elf, he seemed at home. He was strong enough to parry most of everything, fast enough to dodge her dives and jumps, capable of landing kicks or punches unavenged, even capable of grabbing hold. In elvish form, he could wrestle her with bare hands... and she had sometimes grudgingly accepted the outcome of being defeated without a weapon. Sometimes she gave up, at other times continued defiantly. Victory was just one wound away! Sometimes she could inflict that, while at other times he reminded of infinite defiance being useless, trapping her. With any opponent below that skill, getting caught and bound without managing to inflict a wound, would have been humiliating, but in his case... no. There was some humor in having to admit defeat to be freed. Thus she knew - elves were not to be messed with. They were equals in skill and strength. If an elf had fought you off, picking another fight was foolish.

With Mairon however, another fight was incredibly satisfying to pick. There always was a second level - a fight of minds. If Thuringwethil felt her body was losing, she could rely on spells and fight on, assured that he could always cure her wound later. If Mairon lost his body, he always retreated to the spell-world. Thuringwethil gave chase, but had never prevailed against Mairon on that landscape. It was a very unfair fight, but she always tried hard regardless, feeling the need to improve. What she considered magic was his innate ability to interact with the world. To her it was a learned skill, for him as ordinary as walking.

Mairon would not show his strength early, offering chances to advance. Against weak wielders of magic, she might thus already prevail. Trying to outwit Mairon's feigned weakness was delicious. It was puzzle after labyrinth after illusion after game... and games went from things that could be represented by pieces on a board, to such complexity that only meaningful words determining the meaning and relation of yet meaningless words, producing systems of words, producing languages, could fully represent the game.

That's where Thuringwethil generally got lost. Often she could literally not find her way out of illusions, sometimes opting to just talk to him at length. Conversation was the only weapon to be drawn. That's where finally, honesty could be had. And sometimes it had happened that she had touched his spirit with her own, suggesting, inviting. He had answered gently and made her feel happy and wanted, but hadn't really accepted the invitation. There was something that stood in the way. Always had he acted in a curiously reserved manner. As if love was not for him... or a tool too dangerous to be wielded.

Thuringwethil had wondered if there was someone who, and only who, had that privilege in his mind. Or perhaps nobody held it. Perhaps something was to happen in future. There was no doubt, Mairon could see glimpses of the future. Where the tapestry of time lead, could be determined by those who had started the mess.

That era was over. She would not go back. It had been an interesting time... his gift of indefinite life was burdensome but she was immensely grateful for it. The skills were also incredibly useful. Allergy to light didnt matter. She was now capable of getting by independently. The only downside was appearance. Thuringwethil really wished there was a way to conceal those wings.

Perhaps is she practised more magic...

Even though Angband was within reach - its fires could be seen shimmering while in flight - Thuringwethil didn't fly north. She landed westward instead, rested and started drawing plans for a future on her own terms. A different kind of future, one where she would figure out how to control this gift. Some of her old self remained, even if centuries had overwritten it in capital letters. Some beacon that was more inviting shimmered far across time.


	9. Meeting by the lake

"What do you see?", hushed Beren.  
"I see a tall elf-warrior with yellow hair, cutting wood with a sword."

"With a sword?"  
"Yes indeed. He appears to be lacking proper tools."

"I think he'd welcome our assistance. We have axes and that blade you call a saw."  
"I agree, let's go."

They rose from the bushes they had crept in, Luthien put away the seeing-glass and they walked openly along the beach. Luthien called "Hello!" and Beren waved when the elf turned to look. Glorfindel stopped his work, splashed some water on his face and arms to be at least somewhat presentable, and walked to meet them.

A company so strange got his full attention already from a distance.

* * *

First of all, Huan had apparently picked new people to care for him. This implied that something had happened to Tyelko. Glorfindel knew Huan, though his last memories were the recollections of an adolescent elfling whose father had visited Feänor, playing with a puppy in their hosts' gardens.

He couldn't identify the man... humans, having settled in Belriand many centuries back, were no longer rare and exotic people. Their growing numbers made them hard to keep account of.

The woman he had a strong guess about. Her clothes were Doriathrin by their style. Her dark gray hair were the tone of Elwe Singollo. She was really cute and there was something about her... something he couldn't see but felt. Something that preceeded. Something that cautioned, but likewise calmed the alarm raised... she was not just an elf. Approaching closer, there was a motif of birds ebroidered on her dress. Bird perched on trees, singing. Nightingales. But the dress had stains of blood. She walked with a slight limp. He found the injury. She was Thingol's daughter, and she'd been stabbed to her right shoulder.

"Hello and welcome! Glorfindel, though some still insist on calling me Laurefindil."  
"Hello, I am Luthien and that is Beren."

To their surprise, Huan ran to their new acquaintance together with their backpacks and planted paws on his chest and a wet tongue on his face. For a moment, Beren worried that Glorfindel might be pushed over like a rag toy, but then understood he'd been expecting that!

"I'm happy to see you! But please don't do this to others, at least not before shedding your cargo! You might throw people off their balance," he said to the dog while scratching its chest. Huan calmed and descended to four paws, but kept circling around them, wagging his tail and occasionally pulling at Glorfindel's clothes.

"I see that you are old acquaintances?", Beren asked.

"We are indeed. A long time ago, far far away, a bored young elf waiting for his father to complete negotiations, found a puppy in the garden, who was likewise bored. He taught the puppy to fetch objects that are thrown, but likewise to dig up useful things, for example beets, carrots and turnips."

Luthien grinned at that and Beren tried to imagine Feänor's and Nerdanel's gardens after that event.

"I don't know how my father settled the balance with lady Nerdanel. You see, one batch of carrots can be replaced, but an eternal pest that that raids carrot-beds with patience, that is hard to put into numbers, while the fun of replanted turnips appearing among decorative flowers, is entirely dependent on the eyes of the beholder. I guess he explained to her that Huan would have surely learnt it anyway, would you not have?"

Huan bared his teeth and licked his cheek, seeming to agree that carrots had no chance.

"They should have been lucky that Findarato didn't spend time with him instead. Otherwise they'd have got the first fully vegetarian hunting dog - one that stages surprise raids on kale and secretly opens pea-pods, jumps to fetch grapes from vines, sniffs out truffles and eradicates sugar-leaf within a mile."

"I've heard that Finrod has a thing for sweets, but I didn't know he had so much common with Beren," Luthien smiled. Glorfindel noted from their reactions that they knew him.

"Finrod has some skills, some special way with feelings... wherefrom inherited or whereby learned, I cannot tell... his own feelings he can trace to roots and govern like a good commander governs troops. He is resistant to many tricks that tempt the ego, circumvent the sense or undermine the will of other folk. Others' feelings he can sense. That skill is not limited to people, but also extends to animals. There is solid logic in him preferring not to take their lives. To us they may seem foreign. He probably knows their world."

"Alas, for I have no such skill," Beren said, "and I've got no grudge against sugar-leaf either, but I did give up eating meat in Dorthonion. At first, endless pursuit by foes left me no time to feed myself, later it became a pact of sorts with local animals. When they learned to recognize me as harmless and helpful... they would not betray my presence to the enemy. I could use their behaviour to guess their secrets. If they fled, I knew it wasn't from me. If they went somewhere, I could follow them safely and find out. I discovered many things of curiosity and worth... and since I needed to cache my foodstuff, I could not rely on meat. It didn't save me in the long run, however. Snow fell and footprints told their tales. I could only travel in snowfall and blizzard. By the third winter, I sensed my luck was running out. I had found no human nor elf, and narrow misses with orcs were increasing. In spring I set for the mountains. They were bad, but by autumn I had crossed them."

"I think I know which mountains you mean. Ouch. And your choice makes perfect sense," Glorfindel said. "Myself, I am a bit wasteful. I do carry a bow occasionally and draw its string for mere hunger, but I broke mine on the way up these," and he pointed towards Ered Wethrin, "and on the other side I got into a fight with a vampire. I lost my horse and wares and thus, here I am with empty pockets, building a raft to go downstream with less effort."

* * *

Glorfindel asked if they took any offense, if he should offer them half a pike roasted without salt. Beren thanked and accepted - he didn't hunt or fish, but was still grateful if others offered their hard-won catch. Luthien brought salt and spices from her backpack. Glorfindel had made his return trip without even a teaspoon of salt. After Luthien had finished adding spices to the pike, it tasted delicious and they ate and talked.

"What is a vampire?" Beren eventually asked.  
"They are a recent addition to the ranks of Morgoth's servants," Glorfindel said.  
"In the story we heard at the inn, the commander of the bats would have been one," Luthien added.

"Have you heard of the fallen Maia that dwells on Tol Sirion?", was Glorfindel's turn.  
"We've met. He didn't like me, but Finrod kept him off my back," Beren said with the best poker face he could summon.

That paused the conversation and caused Luthien to smirk. Glorfindel understood the half-joke and turned it to another.

"Well, if you've met him, then you could be one! But to pass the check, you'd need wings. And serious teeth. And claws of poisoned metal that can..."

That was when Luthien pulled her bow and handed it to Beren, hushing: "Wolf!" Glorfindel turned in a blur and had his sword drawn.

Huan lazily walked a few steps towards the wolf, sniffing the air, thinking.

Beren was about to release an arrow when Huan spoke and said.

"Stop! Don't shoot. This is no ordinary wolf."

Huan walked slowly and carefully to the black wolf about his height, but of much stronger build, stopping occasionally. The wolf took a few steps forward, keeping to a row of young pines. Their gait was strange and Luthien started seeing its pattern. The wolf wasn't tensing to jump and Huan wasn't either. Beren lowered his bow a little while Glorfindel said "Look!", and pointed. On the hind leg of the wolf there was a shackle without chain.

Huan touched the wolf's snout and they sniffed each other. The wolf stayed where it was, watching carefully, while Huan turned around and walked back.

"Don't shoot, she's not a real wolf, but I cannot see through her disguise. She needs help. No animal would come to people in such a way."

Thus had Huan spent his second time of speaking.

"I will go. Please keep that bow ready but don't pull its string. An archer is a terrible thing to a wolf. Glorfindel... if you can follow me halfway without the sword drawn, I would be grateful," said Luthien.

"Are you sure? I have armor..."

"I have words. Armor might be needed if words fail."

Thus she walked, taking a bit of fish with her. Glorfindel slowly followed, but stopped at fifteen steps. Luthien proceeded and slowed down to a very leisurely pace, putting herself between Beren and the wolf. That seemed to calm the animal significantly, and it lay down on the sand besides a young tree. Luthien sat some steps from it and slowly stretched her hand out, placing on ground a tree-leaf with her bit of the pike. The wolf sensed its smell and licked its tongue, turning to look this way and that, taking stock of the situation. It wasn't drawn to the food. It looked well fed and healthy.

"To learn your story, I need to touch you. Can you tolerate me touching you, a little?," Luthien asked, and suddenly both Beren and Glorfindel saw a vision of what she wanted to do. The wolf appeared to have seen it also, for it nodded in a gesture typical of people.

Luthien moved closer and the wolf touched her arm with its nose. She turned towards the men.

"I still don't know who she is, but being a wolf isn't her only possible form. She asks for my help. Let us lay down weapons. I haven't seen anything like this before."

Beren put the bow away and slowly approached.

Luthien moved her hand gently over the wolf's fur, and the wolf made no objection. When her hand came to the shackle, however, it was Luthien that felt a force noticing her and stirring from sleep. Her hand stopped and she backed away slowly. Then the wolf spoke in her own language, and Luthien could understand it, while Beren and Glorfindel only wondered.

"Did it hurt you? Don't provoke it. It has great power within it. It imprisons me in this body. Can you free me at all?"

"Don't worry, it didn't hurt me. I sensed its power and kept distance, lest it recognize me and become alarmed."

"Please don't do anything that would alarm it! I fear the one who put it there. If he learns of you, we are in danger."

"Don't worry about that either. I am stronger than I seem, but I don't pick avoidable fights. He is probably far away, but I will not handle it."

"But then... you cannot free me?"

"It is not so simple. I'm the daughter of an elf and a Maia. Alarms that I set off, might be evaded by others. Can you please help me, Beren?"

She asked him to touch the shackle with the dwarvish axe, stopping if she'd say. He obliged and slowly moved it forward, while Luthien put forth her skills to listen. Now that she listened, she did hear the shackle speak, in words that weren't real. It asked who approached, demanded to know a password, warned of consequences. The dwarvish axe was stubbornly silent. It had nothing to say. With a clink the metals touched and nothing came of it.

Next she asked if Beren could touch it with his thickest gloves. He was really wary by now, by seeing the care and avoidance that Luthien was granting to a mere ring of iron. He resolved to be utterly calm and blunt, and not care the slightest. In his most nonchalant move, he patted the iron twice.

"It doesn't recognize him. It shouts a warning and tries to draw him to a fight, but the gloves protect and Beren's body ignores it. He can hold and handle that thing."

The wolf sighed.

"Glorfindel, can you please bring my backpack, I need to find some saw blades..." - "Wait!" - Beren interened. "We cannot do this here! Not with the best elvish surgeons could we..."

The wolf made a sudden twitch but didn't jump to feet.

"Stop, calm, you are scaring her - please calm, I don't intend to saw off your foot! I have more than one saw... besides the saw from the armories, there are three dwarvish blades. Burglar-blades that I bought the same evening... a really fragile and strong alloy with tiny teeth."

"Oh, sorry." He hadn't realized what else Luthien had taken along.

"Me too," said Luthien. "I should have mentioned them to you, but didn't want to burden you with more packing lists. It's a saw that cuts metal. I only want to saw through the slot and rivet."

She kept scanning the shackle from a distance, at the same time explaining to Glorfindel how to find the blades and their handle. He brought them and she started assembling them, also asking for cooking oil. Beren knew where the oil was and Luthien asked him to pour some into the shackle's slot, and some more on the saw-blade. Then, with Beren holding the shackle, Luthien took the saw and touched the shackle, as if to test. She directed it carefully and started work. At first the saw wandered and slipped, but she increased strength and held it more precisely, starting to carve a path from a corner, lengthening it. Soon a millimeter of the corner shined like fresly milled steel.

"Whew. It is cheap construction steel! I was expecting something far worse."

There was a problem, however. By the time she'd made the main path under the saw one millimeter deep, Luthien's shoulder was engulfed in pain.

"Perhaps I can help with this?" Glorfindel asked.  
"Thank you, I really need to rest. I'll keep watch while you do it," Luthien accepted.

The tall elf-lord was indeed more suited for the task. He could use the blade's entire length without overreaching, and shearings of metal came in a steady stream. When he stopped for a moment, Beren added more cooking oil. After twenty minutes, the rivet snapped in half.

The wolf tried to pull her leg out of the shackle, but it refused to bend.

"We need to wedge it open," said Luthien, putting her pocket knife away and offering to Beren a wooden piece she'd carved. "Try this and the hammer."

As pressure increased, metal gradually yielded.

"I'll try holding it so you can pull."

The wolf pulled with such force that Beren tumbled over. When he started rising, the wolf was gone. Glorfindel was looking at the horizon as if knowing what would happen. Where the wolf had been, stood a black-haired young woman, far taller than Luthien and likewise taller than Beren. She had no clothes, so Beren looked away. Luthien handed her some of her spare clothes. She dressed quickly and tried to say something, but then stopped. Again she tried, and again she stopped.

"Please, let me try to help," said Luthien.

She nodded and Luthien hugged her gently. That's how they stayed for nearly a minute, or maybe even two. Beren understood that time had become odd. It was... not passing right.  
Other things were feeling odd too. He shook his head and shivered, but the uneasy feeling remained.

Luthien let go of the wolf-woman and Beren overcame the sense of strange things happening.

"Thank you... I wish I knew words to thank you... I havent... spoken... for eighty years. I don't know what you did, but you even brought back my name... I am Ruinis Falviel."

"Luthien Eluchîl Tinuviel"

"I'm Beren, son of Barahir from the people of Beör."

"Just call me Glorfindel, though I have more names. I'm supposed to keep a low profile."


	10. Prisoner of Angband

_Author's note: a word of caution, this is a quite grim chapter (rating equals horror stories), but Ruinis Falviel* does need to tell her story._  
 _ _(*approximate translation: huntress, daughter of foam)__

* * *

"I suspect that a shortage of talk won't be threatening us soon," Glorfindel concluded.

Luthien asked Ruinis if she was hungry or needed to rest.

She wasn't hungry but deemed resting a wonderful idea, and while Beren, Glorfindel and Luthien continued their meal, Ruinis simply fell deep asleep.

* * *

She went back to the beginning of her memories, a place she had desperately guarded against loss or corruption... and from her youth started tracing steps forward. Suddenly everything had names again, in addition to names there existed numbers, and not even whole numbers but fractional ones... years were counted with numbers, months had names, days were enumerated, places had names, some of them many and contradictory ones... dreams were not the same. Every species dreamt differently. She saw dreams she hadn't seen for long. What had been her own experiences as the wolf, were suddenly abstractions, experiences that needed translating...

...and that helped. Ruinis could wield the species-barrier as a shield against things that hurt. She could choose what to translate.

Her mindscape had changed. Instead of a forest with paths and streams, her mind was again the wrecked fortress surrounded by partly razed walls, partly filled ditches, it was a maze of crumbled walkways, fallen bridges and perilously tilted stairs... she walked however to the strongest tower that still stood. A tower built by others, a tower she had taken and squatted and kept in some resemblance of order.

Its stairs were massive stone slabs interlocking at the center and extending into walls, rising in a seemingly endless spiral. She ascended the stairs for multiple minutes until near the top of the tower, she found a stone door. Saying the right words and turning the key worked. This room had not been plundered. Fresh water was awaiting in a jug and tasted wonderful. Ripe fruits were in a bowl, and they were delicious. Dried meat and salted fish was hanging on strings and these were tasty too. She didn't know how to write, so there was no library, but there were a lot of drawings and paintings... fleeting ones on paper, notable ones on parchment or canvas... the ones that mattered most were engraved in stone.

She studied the pictures and the stories they represented for a while, took a map from the room and went to the pinnacle of the tower, to see the world around. She compared the world to the map, and the map to the world... there was a rift but it wasn't great. The world had changed and the map was outdated.

* * *

Then she awoke and was glad she didn't awaken as a wolf. It was not a hallucination.

The elf whom Ruinis had seen attacked, and whose passage she had started tracking southwards... (but whom she'd feared to approach, for his eyes glowed and their gaze was too attentive, it reminded of someone... though it didn't tear into the soul)... he had brought her to people who could break what held her... after so many years.

Ruinis rememberd the other wolves she had sought for company. Five generations of them had lived and died. She missed them and shed a few tears, but such was the way of the world - she had lost such friends before, in better times. Some were granted the ability to heal while others not. Which was the better option, she knew not. To become nothing... was to be released. In these eight decades, she had considered, in some form, whether to seek such release. But in the mind of a wolf, it was an abstraction too difficult to process. Animals were incapable of escaping by that path. She started listening to the stories others told.

Beren and Luthien mentioned their meeting in Doriath, their feelings for each other and their plans in life. They mentioned... Elwe Singollo.

"I only now realized that you are Elwe's daughter! I met him... a very long time ago. They were traveling through the place my people inhabited. They asked for shelter and offered help in return. They knew skills which my people lacked... some of these we wished to learn. They also wanted to learn some of ours. And... we traded opinions on whether the journey was worth it."

Luthien and Glorfindel quickly understood while Beren took some time to piece it together.

"Does that mean... you were already here when elves first migrated to Valinor?"

"I was born in the long twilight when only stars shone. When Orome came to warn of approaching danger, to urge everyone to seek shelter in Valinor... people reacted differently. Some considered him an enemy and hid from him. Some let themselves be approached. Some of those believed him, others doubted his word. Of those who believed, some thought the journey worthwhile. Others weren't sure. Of those who disbelieved, ironically, some wanted to experience the sea anyway, and decided to go regardless of mistrust. Others flat out refused. My ancestors felt that his words were truthful, but the conviction that Arda was our home... was stronger. I'm counted among the Avari - those who refused. Ironically, we weren't left alone, for some who tried to make the journey, strayed from it and failed to make it. The Sindar and the Nandor kept us company through ages."

"Wow. I'm from the generation who were already born in Valinor," Glorfindel said.

"When I was born in Doriath, the Moon had already risen and the Sun soon followed," told Luthien. "I'm used to the world changing overnight."

"It was quite a change for me," Ruinis replied. "The Moon was nice, even wolves like it. The Sun however, when I first saw it... to be honest I feared. So much fire, in such an intense form. I was silly enough to fear that it might run into Arda and destroy everything."

"There is something I would much like to ask you... but haven't dared yet," Glorfindel said to Ruinis. "Please tell if it's a secret, or something too private to ask... but how did you change form? Were you turned into a wolf or did you turn yourself? Did you naturally use that form before? And wherefrom came such skill?"

"So many questions. It's a difficult story to tell. I am still considering if I should tell it, though I understand it may benefit you... and telling it may benefit even me. I had the skill of turning into various animals before, but the form of a wolf I often preferred. The last time I changed into a wolf, I did not want to. I was forced to use my skill, and subsequently trapped in that form. I've been to Angband."

"I probably should be economical with words, but I was spying on Angband."

"We are going to Angband. We intend to break in and steal things."

"Don't worry, I didn't expect to be rescued by normal people by now," and Ruinis smiled her first smile, but then frowned. "Normal people feared me too much. I have once seen someone try something comparable to stealing from Angband. He died, but I am the loot he stole. The confusion helped me escape. I think I must tell my story, but it's not for the weak of heart."

"My job is warfare, recently, I have armoured my heart."  
"My life has been warfare, until I met Luthien."

"I considered myself weak of heart, but then I met Noldorin elves and they told me stories. Then I met Beren, fell in love with him and he told me everything he'd seen. I think I'm no longer counted among the weak of heart. And... I'm terribly sorry to be selfish at this moment... but any information, even the slightest bit, informing me of what Angband is like, would probably benefit me immensely. I would listen to your story even if it scared me. And I'm genuinely curious about your people and your skill of changing form."

"My people preferred a simpler life. Far simpler than the gray elves, who immediately started building things and arranging their world, and likewise simpler than the green elves. You see, we didn't bother with permanent settlements, preferring a wandering life. We didn't discover the art of writing. Memory and tales and song was usually enough, though I have supplemented it with imaginary places, maps and pictures that I build in my mind. I have multiple sets of these. In my elvish form, I can access them all but have to translate some to understand them. In my animal forms, it depends. As a stork, I have a knack for mapping, as a wolf, path-finding and tracking become incredibly easy, senses of smell and taste get augmented. I can't turn into any animal, only those whose life I have studied enough. And, this ability can be lost. Mere forgetting can trap you in the wrong form. That shackle... I don't know what it did, but it made me unable to say the words. It made me unable to think some things.

About eight decades ago, I was crossing Hithlum in spring, moving from Ered Wethrin on a northwestern path towards Ered Lomin, which I considered my summer home. I was unlucky. Terrible things started happening around me. From the south-west, clouds of dust rose. Ground trembled, an army was marching on a course that intersected with me. I increased my speed, but realized it would not suffice. From distance, I could see they were elves, but elves of a strange tribe, with weapons I had never seen. Glistening steel and thickets of spears, riding on horses, some pulling wagons along. I turned into my wolf form and abandoned my things, hoping to recover them later. It didn't suffice. Another army was on collision course with this. When orcish berserkers ran at me almost as quick as a wolf can, I panicked and turned into a stork, trying to fly my way out of the situation. There were bats however, and my act of changing had been noticed. They came after me and chased me to exhaustion. I got out of the battlefield, turned back into a wolf and defended myself in a forest, fighting off the bats. When they gave up and left, I was relieved for a while... but then I realized the forest was on fire. Again I had to escape.

In the end, I was so tired that I could no longer fly. I turned into my elvish form, clad myself with what could be improvised, ate what could be found, and was careless. Upon a hilltop I was spotted, and elves apprehended me first. They didn't believe my story, deeming me a creature of the enemy. They didn't hold the Avari in good esteem either. They didn't hurt me however, and gave me clothes and food. Their company was soon surrounded by orcs, warg-riders and fire-demons. I asked for a weapon but was refused. They tried fighting their way out of the kettle, but were slaughtered. Some were taken prisoner, I among them.

The journey to Angband was enough to kill many of us. Bound by hands to a troll-pulled rope, you either walk along or get dragged. We tried helping each other, but orcs prevented it. When the gates swung open, the troll was pulling forty wrecked bodies and ten of my companions.

I was thrown among elves and humans first. From the gate to right are housed the immortal servants of Morgoth. I have never been there. Some spoke of balrogs and great serpents and things I could not imagine. On the left, orcs and goblins dwell in shitty caves. Their main cities are underground, that is but a suburb. Next come the prisons where I was taken. Beyond that the leftward road goes to wolf-pits, and a guard battalion of highly trained trolls is stationed there. What comes after that, I know not. Except that if you walk straight and descend underground, you will eventually walk to Morgoth.

It was among prisoners when I was spotted. There came a man of elf-like shape and form. The first thing that I noticed was his eyes. They shone like coals in a furnace and his gaze pierced into soul. It is because of your eyes that I feared to approach you... they resemble him."

"The light of the trees," Glorfindel muttered.

"Next I noticed the armor. It was so strange that I kept staring, which could have revealed me, but then again, others did the same. It was... as if he wore scales of some ancient fish, which aren't flat but sloped and pointed. They were of metal, however. Every angle seemed to have some hidden purpose, no place could be found that wouldn't deflect a blow onward to something else. Even stranger, the armor seemed somehow fluid and re-arranged itself sometimes. A pattern that had been... disappeared, and something else appeared. It was colored dull black with silver-green and fire-orange here and there.

"Wolf hiding among prey", he immediately saw through my disguise. "I know your secret, come with me." The words were so compelling that I just obeyed and went. He questioned me for a while in very polite manner, even offering food. When I had told enough, he revealed the cards.

"Will you swear allegiance to my master, swear to fight for him? And likewise, will you scout for me? I need people who aren't natural servants, who serve neither darkness nor light. But I need other things too. This is just what I'd have foremost."

I said I preferred freedom. He said freedom had run out. After swearing, I would be forever bound to his will. I said I couldn't make such an oath.

"Alternatively, there's another offer. My master wants better wolves. Poor keeping under Gothmog's careless whip has ruined their stock and skills. Will you be one of them and teach them? Will you choose a mate among them, and bear a litter of wolf-pups? Be advised that you cannot raise them. Others will do that, but I give my word that they'll be raised well. The only thing they won't know, is how to change. What one doesn't know, one cannot miss or yearn for."

I said no. Just like I wouldn't subjugate my will to a cruel master, neither would I give of my body for their purposes. If I'd ever choose someone, it would be of free will and far from any threat, and not a wolf. I had served no kings and I would never do.

He said he was disappointed. Other choices would be increasingly worse. I would then be considered a warrior wolf. Life wasn't long for those, he said. I would be compelled to fight, no matter what I wanted. Elvish swords and arrows would await in counted years. He told me to consider.

I said I didn't need to consider. I would rather let my gift pass back to Yavanna.

At that, I saw him truly panic.

Incredibly fast he said words that subverted my mind. Against my will I turned myself into a wolf, and with all my will I jumped at his throat. He almost lost balance and stumbled, but managed to hold me off. Orcs came fast, overwhelmed and bound me. After him they carried me to a nearby building where a forge glowed hot. He took a shackle from a shelf, seized a glowing rivet from the forge with bare hands, put the shackle on my leg and hammered it shut. Orcs unbound me, but I could no longer bring myself to attack him. Neither could I even think of turning into my native form. Who was Yavanna, I did not remember.

"So it was her who gave these abilities...", concluded Luthien.

"Yes. After we refused and Orome left, after quite some time, Yavanna took her least intimidating form and approached us. She told the same as Orome had. Great peril was to come. These lands would be deadly in future. She asked if our decision was firm, and if we needed something to survive the approaching danger. Some of us asked... for a way to disguise ourselves and slip away from threats. They asked for the skill of changing."

"And she granted it, and it turned to be inheritable?"

"Exactly. It is inheritable, but you need to learn it too. In the wolf-pit where I was thrown in Angband, nobody knew language any more. Some probably had interbred with ordinary wolves, but still had talent... yet none at all knew speech. Oh how I tried to teach them! It was easy to befriend them, but so hard to teach when my own mind was partly incapacitated. Eventually, some started learning... but once they could converse a little, I learned that they were entirely loyal to Thu - that was his name. He had often cured their wounds, brought them back from misery and nearly death... he had taught them skills and made them strong... their loyalty to him was unbreakable. Perhaps there too, spells were involved."

When a year had passed, Thu again conversed with me for long. He said he should thank me, for teaching his wolves to speak. He offered to promote me back from warrior to scout. I declined. He asked if perhaps I'd found a favourable mate. I said I hadn't and wouldn't. He said it was foolish to refuse in Angband and urged me to choose an easier fate. He said that time still existed to reconsider, but that things were in motion which would send armies clashing soon.

Next time, at the season when wolves crave to breed, armies clashed outside. The wolf-pits were emptied, but I wasn't taken. Thu called me up once again and asked if I had chosen a mate. Many wolves would die in the coming days and his master needed pups.

I said again that I would not, could not bear pups for a master that enslaves them and wages war with them.

He said he understood, and that this made me worthwhile to try convincing, but here in Angband, rules were not his making. His assignment here was finished. Commands were already in flight. He urged me to not oppose a new wolf-master - others here would be less patient.

At that point, I broke down entirely and asked to be taken along. He said he couldn't. He would die tonight, shed his body in an explosion and expose his soul to travel very fast. Opportunity had presented itself far away. He needed to speak once more with his king, and be at Tol Sirion three o'clock in the morning.

He left and the footsteps still echoed in the cold hallway. I knew not who would come to replace him, but I knew that fear was justified. That night, I stared at the sky. Shortly after midnight, a brilliant flash occurred and a shockwave blew dust afloat. Orcs looked and pointed. I could see light traveling among clouds, turning southwards and west, leaving at dizzying speed. Hope left me and I cried "Thu", but orcs said other names. I think they named him Mairon.

I never met the new wolf-master.

Uruk-hai in armor came and bound me, and took me to the prisons. They threw me in a cell with a fierce young male. He couldn't speak. I knew what was to follow. My scent started overwhelming his senses soon, and he tried to approach. I warned him off. For a while it worked, then I had to defend myself with teeth. Surprisingly that worked, he was somewhat stronger than me, but I was desperate.

Orcs said it wouldn't do and came with a net. I tried fighting them too, but a wolf can't fight such things. They shackled me to the floor, taking my ability to defend myself.

I tried to reach his mind, but failed - it was clouded with desire. He approached again and I could do nothing. My true self retreated to the darkest corners of my mind to defend itself. I had been a wolf long enough that part of my mind said it was inevitable, a natural course of events.

In his defense it should be said that he wasn't driven only by desire. All the instincts were present and active and he also tried to make my plight more comfortable. When I couldn't scratch my itches, he cleaned my fur with his tongue. When I was hungry, he brought me old bones hidden somewhere to chew. I still tried speaking to him, and at some point I got through. One can't accelerate a learning process meant to take months, but I tried desperately to accelerate it, and something came of it. He obtained some simple ability to converse. Next morning however, he complained that thought was failing and desire overcoming him again. I tried to support him in that struggle, keeping his thoughts elsewhere. Finally he said he couldn't hold himself back, said he was sorry and I said it was okay. He said he wanted to help me raise my pups, to care for me as well as he could. I said we'd not be permitted. Why, he demanded to know. Orders, I said.

Orcs were obviously satisfied with what had passed, and by the evening, came. They unshackled but tied me, loaded me onto a cart and started taking me to the wolf-pits. My temporary mate was going out of his mind to prevent them, but could not. I could still remember his howling, but I choose not to. If I go into these memories too far, they will surely hurt me severely.

What happened next was unexpected.

Orcs were moving me on a cart from the prisons to the wolf-pits when horns were repeatedly blown. Great battle-trolls in spiky armor issued from their caves and ran past us in hordes, aiming for the gate. One stumbled and fell on us. The two orcs died under the troll. I was thrown from the cart, still bound but alive. I gnawed at the ropes and freed myself. I ran towards the gate and stopped, fearing to exit.

A massive cloud of darkness, heat and frost, pierced by three blinding eyes, was stumbling up from depths, walking to the gate. Its servants froze at attention and I froze behind their backs. Far outside the gate, stood an elf with a glowing sword. He yelled something. Morgoth yelled that he would smite such vermin, swinging mace of iron big as a tree. In his shadow, behind his servant's backs, I slunk out of the gate and ran sideways. I could hear them clash and ground shake. I only ran. Then a scream pierced the air, and I realized the elf had struck a wound, but hammering continued unabated. Multiple more times the elf-king hit and Morgoth screamed in fury. Then the elf screamed and silence came.

I didn't look back. On my way south, I fed on moles and lizards who somehow could survive here. Further south, I caught hares and deer, foxes and raccoons. An insatiable hunger had arisen in me, and I presumed I would birth pups. When time was near, however, instead of pups I gave birth to lumps of bloody mess. Nature sabotaged their plan. I found other wolves to live among, and they accepted me. I tried teaching them to speak, but they had no such talent. They were good company, though I always left their pack when breeding season came. They were free animals who took no side in this struggle. They helped me heal and I helped their pack live smartly.

Sometimes I tried approaching humans, but they raised spears. I tried with elves, but swords were drawn and arrows brought to string. I tried breaking the shackle, but only got to see the shine of fresh iron exposed from under rust. It would take a thousand years.

Then I saw Glorfindel ride back from north, saw the vampire attack him, saw them fight and followed him here over Ered Wethrin.

"I had the feeling of being followed, but never saw you even once."  
"I was careful."

"Thank you for telling your story. The commotion that let you escape was Nolofinwe's duel with Morgoth. I grieved for long. To know that his sacrifice helped at least one person escape, makes the outcome easier to accept."


	11. Collector of impressions

"I guess that now is an appropriate time for me to tell my story," said Glorfindel after thinking for a while.

"I cannot tell all, only a portion. While telling it, I must consider what information can be traded safely.

I walk here on behalf of Turgon, also known as Turukano... the long-lost son of Nolofinwe, and a friend and cousin of your acquaintance Finrod. Initially they used to live in Vinyamar, in the coastal region of Nevrast. Both of them traveled a lot, and sometimes they traveled together. What they discovered on their travels, you may know about, but only partly... for Turgon has been gone from public life nearly four hundred years.

Where he dwells, I am not authorized to disclose or even hint. I was chosen for my task due to my propensity towards privacy, and some limited mental skills which render my thoughts hard to pry from my head. On the scale of Finrod or you, Luthien, my skills are crude and undeveloped. Regardless I was chosen due to them.

The deal is such: Turgon hasn't forgotten and isn't taking herbal baths in some flower-filled grove..."

Luthien barely suppressed a giggle, and had difficulty calming herself.

"...Turgon works hard, and wishes to learn how things are going elsewhere. On his behalf I seek knowledge of friend, foe and folks who don't take sides. I seek information about agriculture and trade, forestry and seafaring, livestock and grains. I keep a keen eye on weapons that people carry, tools that they use, how they write and speak, what sort of dwellings they inhabit and how many inhabit them. I note roads and bridges, check the condition of passes and forts. Since I have good memory, I don't need paper. To be blunt, I'm a spy. For some a friendly spy, to some a hostile one, but regardless a person who travels much. What I'm definitely not, is a decision-maker or a diplomat. My role is to acquire information. Choices I leave to others. I do have, however, the permission to disclose and disseminate information, as long as Turgon's secrets remain safe.

I am authorized to tell you which of abandoned forts in Ered Wethrin are being reclaimed and garrisoned by orcs. You must avoid these at all cost. I am authorized to tell you of rarely-taken dwarven roads that pass straight through the mountains. Multiple exist. I'm authorized to tell you of the person named Thu whom Ruinis mentioned. I have fairly detailed background information on him, some acquaintances and habits of his.

What I don't have, is fresh information of Tol Sirion. I considered it so dangerous a place that I made a big circle around it. What happens there now, I cannot guess or tell, despite the coincidence that the person who attacked me near Angband, was Mairon's personal messenger, second in command, and a likely friend. Servants of the enemy likewise have feelings, they likewise grow closer over time, and even that I must try to learn.

From her directly, I learned very little. I feigned honesty and pride and challenged her to tell her name, telling mine first. Some might say it's not feigning then. It is for me, however. If you look up Glorfindel in archives, you won't even figure out my parents - except that they had dealings with Feanor's folks. If you look up Thuringwethil, you have stumbled upon a rumour mill. Perhaps because she is scary despite being beautiful, and indeed very, very dangerous... perhaps because orcs have lousy discipline and can't keep themselves from mouthing off loud enough to be heard at half a mile... perhaps she is objectively exceptional, being the first mortal to have gone immortal (with some conditions)...

...and before I knew of your people and your skills, Ruinis, I considered her the first material creature, that is, not a spirit who has taken earthly form... to have obtained and mastered the skill of flight despite it not being meant for her.

Finally I must admit... that I mostly ignored that wealth of information until she personally came and tried to kill me.

She dove at me unexpectedly. I had to jump from my horse. It fell and broke its leg. I killed my horse and took cover in forest. I burnt my wares and tried to sneak off. She tracked me despite my attempts and tried a trick that most elves fall for. I barely saw it through, since indeed, I am thorougly soaked with the light of the trees, and can emit lots of it if I really try. I struck a wound that should be deadly... struck a dagger in her neck. She took that dagger and wielded it against me. She disarmed me quite thorougly, at some point having both my sword and dagger, leaving me with my Noldorin weapon of mass destruction, containing knife, pliers and corkscrew. She feared none of them. Fortunately, luck did turn in my favour. The wound started having effect. I traded her temporary safety and ability to bind her wound, against my sword and my safe escape. I intend to visit Nargothrond before going... home."

Now it was Ruinis who wanted to speak.

"There is something I should add to your story. I spent some time hiding from her, and only tracked you by footprints and scent first. That Thuringwethil is so dangerous that a wolf is prey to her. She cannot find a black wolf in twilight, hiding under trees, however.

I saw her return to your horse. She cursed it for being spoilt. If blood doesn't pulse down her thoat, food is stale for her. Regardless she drank of it plentifully, and examined your fire thoroughly, camping there for the next day. Light hurts her, but to comb through ashes, even she needs light. Nothing bigger than an inch went unexamined and she even brushed some items clean."

"Damn, I feared that," Glorfindel said.

"She was shaken and hurt, though, as much as someone so cold-blooded can be shaken," described Ruinis. "The wound you effected was severe, and before that, something else had happened - something that I now match up with Finrod's attempt to sneak the pass of Sirion. When she slept up a tree, her self-control wasn't perfect. I believe she hallucinated and spoke to herself. I could understand some of it, as she speaks your tribe's dialect, Beren."

"The message she was to carry to Angband wasn't one of success. In fact, it was a message of failure so deep and unexpected... that Morgoth's ire could be raised. Mairon would be untouchable, being the form-changing creature of energy that he is. Nobody treads on him, she said... but Morgoth might tread twice as hard on her. She considered herself to have no part in the failure, having been away... and now she'd have to risk her life delivering bad news to an impulsive tyrant. It was too much for her. She valued her life foremost. I think she had feelings for Mairon, but those weren't mutual. Her words weren't clear, but I thought I heard a resolve to take her own path. Multiple times she spoke in her sleep or not going there. Not going to Angband. If humans have a gift of foresight bearing any semblance to elves, I think she foresaw on that night of sickness... that she'd not return from Angband."

"Now that is... highly interesting," commented Luthien. "You had privilege to observe the enemy's chain of command crack and fail at a dizzyingly high level... for a cause as shallow as Morgoth's inability to take bad news. As for vampires having feelings, I'm not surprised. Life necessitates having feelings. Even the dark king must have some, we are merely unable to determine which ones matter. What do you think, Beren, should we talk of this later? Can you tell me anything more that you observed at Tol Sirion? Can you..."

She paused.

"Can you share with me a bit of your mind, Ruinis and Beren? I want to... see both Thuringwethil and Mairon."

"Of course I can," said Ruinis. "I'm surprised you didn't already see him when you healed me earlier."

"Thank you. And no, I didn't go looking for such things. I feared that making you recall anything of the sort would hurt you more than help."

"Then be welcome to my mind and see. Do you need physical contact to accomplish this?"

"I do. I realize that it might be possible from distance, as Finrod reads emotions from distance and his sister can read more, but I've avoided developing this skill. Words exist to avoid accidental expression of unconsidered thought. If I practised hard and read the mind of everyone at distance, I would hurt and provoke some people, and likewise hurt myself. I want to judge people by their considered deeds and words. Thoughts, being raw material undergoing consideration, I don't want to be privy to."

Ruinis took Luthien's hand and held it in her palms. Luthien appeared in her mindscape, and she led her to the relevant memories, turning away to protect herself from scenes of hurt. Luthien observed with care and memorized the sight. When Luthien was about to break the connection, Ruinis motioned her to stay a moment longer, and showed memories of herself changing form. Luthien accepted and absorbed as much of the experience as she could.

"Thank you. With your help, I easily found so much helpful. I'd really like to hug you, can I please?"

Ruinis was happy to accept a hug.

Beren likewise invited Luthien to explore, and she explored what he remembered of Tol Sirion. The mindscape of mortal people was fuzzier, however. Every memory was fading little by little. Exploring Beren's mindscape was difficult for her. It reminded Luthien that *he* was fading little by little. Time and entropy did not know mercy.

She saw much, thanked, and hugged him too. "I don't know what will come of this, but I have some ideas."

She didn't ask Glorfindel, knowing that his role in life was unpermitting of such sharing.


	12. The stage is set

The path that Glorfindel had taken northward, was for people looking for trouble. He'd been peeking at old Noldorin mountain forts, and found orcs re-settling some of those.

For his return journey, he'd picked a much calmer path - one that Ruinis also considered wise. And it required crossing only minor streams, which Luthien deemed incredibly helpful to avoid aggravating her wound.

They both described the way to Luthien,Beren and Huan... one from an elvish viewpoint, the other recalling her memories as a wolf. Huan found the notes of a wolf more interesting to listen to. People tended to describe journeys in a fashion inadequate for his senses. This was the proper way to chart a path.

Clothes that opportunity had permitted to wash and dry were rolled up and repacked, water flasks were refilled, good wishes exchanged, and thus they set for the foothills.

Ruinis had decided to go downstream with Glorfindel, wanting to see the city and experience the ways of urban elves, which he had volunteered to show. He in turn had many questions about the Avari and Arda's wildlife. "Moriquendi" or "elf of the shadow" had a demeaning tone among his people. He was glad to have met a real elf of the shadow. Knowing one side of a story was boring and short-sighted.

* * *

Before they parted, Ruinis had done one thing that puzzled Luthien. She'd sought a moment of privacy... and said that she no longer yearned for the gift of changing.

"I really wish to give it away. I don't know if that is within my power, but if you wish for it, I would like to try. Without you, my misery would have endured for long. I wish you all the luck you can have."

Luthien had thanked her and they had hugged one last time. Luthien did not feel like receiving anything but a cozy hug, but she appreciated the attempt. Ruinis however did feel her burden starting to lighten.

The words of changing and the procedure of changing back were no longer bright in her mind, but fading. If she wanted, for a while she could still grab hold of them and bring them back, but they were released - drifting apart from her. She wanted to see cities, wanted to experience the sea, and perhaps... if the sea didn't terrify her with its power... perhaps she wanted to cross it.

* * *

They took a publicly known dwarf road up the hills. Ground was convenient and Huan's help made it possible to cover twenty thousand steps in a day. By evening, the sight of Narog twisting its way southward was beautiful to behold in waning sunlight. Luthien fished out the seeing-glass and tried to find any sign of Glorfindel and Ruinis, but had no such luck.

Trees were becoming weak and no longer good for climbing. They found a south-facing rocky outcrop with big boulders on an otherwise shrub-covered hill, considered its properties from multiple viewpoints, and decided to set up camp. Starting a fire would not be wise here, so they didn't.

"Tell me please, how much did you learn from Ruinis?"

"I learnt a lot. I know the layout of Angband near its main gate. I know the guard towers and the access way to the stairs that descend to Morgoth's halls. And I have a plan."

He was curious.

"You will be Mairon. We know with good certainty that he's isn't a person to tread on. His powers of the mind are hard to compare. He has secrets. Lots of them, rest assured of it. If someone even faintly considers you to be Mairon, they will refrain from attempting to see into you. The real Mairon would poke some eyes out in return."

"I'd really, really prefer to be a smaller than average orc. What you suggest are very difficult shoes to fill. What if a Balrog of Morgoth tries to pat me on my shoulder and accidentally burns me to death? What if someone comes asking me something? A password perhaps? What if someone simply asks for advise? His competence in making stuff seems without limit. It will be out of character if I can't tell by heart... what sort of stone the foundations of Angband are made of."

"These are big shoes, but an average orc doesn't have the privilege of coming uninvited to Morgoth. As for people asking things... it will be an occasion on which Mairon will not answer. It will be a special occasion that occurs once in a lifetime. He will be going to his mater for blessings."

"Whaat?"

"I will be Thuringwethil, and we'll be considering becoming rather close allies. We'll be going to Morgoth to request blessings for our marriage."

Beren covered his eyes with his hands.

"No, I don't think I can do this. More likely, my blood will freeze at first sight of a Balrog. I can't bluff on this level. Also, do you even know if marriage is a custom among Morgoth's servants?"

"Don't worry, we can rehearse our act thoroughly. I can provide realistic scenery for you to practise in."  
"Do you really mean that you can... show me what Angband is like, what its creatures are like?"

"I assure you that by the time we get there, you won't fear the sights that await you. I memorized everything that Ruinis offered to show me, and she offered a lot. Ruinis also overheard lots of orcs. Marriage is a possibility, though not a widespread custom. Asking from a lord is considered a sign of respect and loyalty. Mairon won't be taking no for an answer, but will want to show Morgoth that he isn't scheming behind his back. It is entirely realistic if he's already given Thuringwethil ability to live forever. They aren't equals, but there is room for growth. Morgoth would never dare to ask such things of Mairon, but I think that inwardly, he'd await what happened with curiosity and hope. I am the result of my mother choosing an elf as her partner in life. If Mairon chose Thuringwethil..."

"I'm beginning to see how it could work. I think Morgoth would rather like a bunch of talented and ambitious half-Maiar at his service. Although, he might worry too. Imagine Feänor and his seven sons. Now substitute Mairon for Feänor, and keep in mind that even in elvish eyes, mortals breed like rats, and Thuringwethil is a mortal at heart. If I were Morgoth, I would see potential for a clan that's skilled and powerful, numerous and ever growing. I would perceive potential for a coup. Perhaps he would refuse his blessings."

"Then that's an excellent start for a conversation. I would try to convince him and prove my worth. What matters first is to reach his place of dwelling."

"Hold your horses, I have another idea," replied Beren, "remember what Finrod said about his dream. About the fall of Nargothrond and his yet-unmet lover literally blowing up Angband, at least in his dream?"

"You mean to ask him to hand you a Silmaril for study?"  
"I'd say I've heard rumours of danger lurking therein."

"That would be an incredibly adequate thing to try. I didn't manage to tell you, but he is the maker of Morgoth's crown."  
"Then it follows that he's been trusted with Silmarils before."

"I considered my plan decent. Now I think that your plan is better. It just has to accommodate me walking at your side. Shall we consider more options at a later time?"  
"Of course."

"By the way, have you considered the possibility of telling him the truth?"  
"I have, but I would not present it as truth. Mere truth is not regarded highly in that place."

"What would you then present it as?"  
"As a challenge. As an illusion to break through and shatter."

He stopped in thought.

"What would happen if he tried that?"

"I don't know. I just know it would be impossible. You can make an illusion seem truth, but truth has infinite depth and can't be proven an illusion, as long as the person presenting it has breath to present their case. If he tried to prove me unreal, I might have a chance. But most illusionists need an assistant, and I do likewise. The more credible the assistant, that much better. I would need you to frame the situation right."

"Still I fear to approach such power directly. We won't be there alone. Surely the place will be teeming with his servants, all of them fearsome and capable."

"I remember a guy who I walked to my father with. The longest-ruling elvenking that dwells in dizzyingly beautiful halls deep under earth, surrounded by people breathtakingly fair and knowledgeable, yet also warriors incredibly fearsome, fast and precise. The guy who held my hand didn't waver, though I'm assured he hadn't seen such places before."

She smiled, and he smiled back.

"I can try my best. Your father's reputation is a bit softer, however. He only threatened me directly at the end of his first sentence, not at the beginning," Beren grinned.

"If we survive, don't tell him that. He might take it as suggestion to improve his act. He's not a tyrant, though he has a serious issue with change and challenge to authority. I guess all that time of his orders going unquestioned... it has left its mark."

Sun had set and Beren took the first watch, listening to sounds of nightly creatures. Luthien would sleep and guard them next. Huan rested properly, for he had hauled the backpacks two kilometers upwards during the day.


	13. Difficult guests

The first rays of the sun were teasing his eyes, and he opened them. Luthien stood by the boulder, blending in, almost a shadow to be missed. From the way she held Finrod's seeing-glass, Beren understood that her shoulder was doing better.

He rose. He didn't need to dress, and sleeping in such territory wasn't a safe affair. Beren slept with boots on. The dagger slept at his side. The sword was in arm's reach near his improvised pillow (in reality, a roll of cloth). He didn't sleep sitting up in armour with eyes open, though... he'd seen Glorfindel do that the night before. It was a spooky but reassuring sight.

Luthien had heard him rise and came to see.

"Before we go, we definitely must have breakfast. I also wanted to..." He couldn't finish her thought. "I wanted to rehearse our act. We need to start sooner rather than later."

Beren inquired what she planned to accomplish.

"I want to imagine us approaching the main gate first. We should be walking there over the ashen plains. I don't think this dream should involve Huan, as he carries the light of the trees, and that will be very difficult to hide. It is easier to create a false glimmer in your eyes than to exinguish Huan's real light."

"All gates are watched by guards. Greetings are expected and exchanged. If we dream of walking to the gate, we should likewise dream of what we are expected to say, what we might say instead if we don't know the right words... and what might happen."

They ate breakfast.

Beren asked if Luthien needed touch to convey the dream more effectively.

"No. I must practise my abilities every day now. If we are to succeed, the reach of my voice and my mind must grow very significantly. I won't be singing loud, however."

* * *

Thus Luthien sang quietly of the shadowed plain of Anfauglith rolling back beneath them. Dark shapes of mountains appeared. Thangorodrim loomed high and burst through the smothering mat of clouds to heights unknown. Its slopes billowed smoke. Smoke mixed with clouds, covering the plain to horizon. No eagle would spy on Angband without coming below these clouds to entertain archers. Beneath mountains, a rim of dark cliffs was showing itself. A wall of vertical rock nearly half a mile tall, hundreds of miles in circumference. No structure built by elf or dwarf compared to it, while works of men were child's toys. Ancient trees of Menegroth were twigs. The walls of Ered Gorgoroth, despite inhabitants who wove unlight and counted as unlife, were possible to scale, had cracks and caves. This was smooth. But the canyon of Nargothrond remained in perspective. The highest face of Finrod's city did compare for a moment.

Their dream was proceeding at the pace of flight, and Beren saw that Luthien was truly flying at his side on bat-wings. Only, it wasn't Luthien... he looked at himself, trying to see his own appearance, perhaps to understand what kept him aloft, and hurt his eyes instead.

"Ouch!"  
"Sorry, I've never seen a ball lighting, so I made you look like flash-fire instead."  
"Good move, I tried looking at myself and was instantly blinded."

"In reality, we need to sneak close on ground and produce an illusion of landing," Luthien explained. "Thuringwethil would never bother to walk or ride, and Mairon could feasibly arrive like he did to Tol Sirion."

Already before their landing, a signal was blown.

"Ruinis heard their many signals over years. This should denote arrival of allies, few in number, high in standing. Lack of appended signals means the gate-master doesn't require a welcoming party or other help. Glorfindel confirmed the current gate-master is a balrog. The troll who temporarily did the job was thrown into molten rock for negligence."

"Do they intend to open that giant thing somehow, or is it stuck?"

"They have a mechanism. If the gate-master had blown an appendix to his call, a hundred worker trolls would immediately jump to action, manning great wheels inside the mountains. Not for us... not for anything short of armies or Morgoth himself. There's the wolf gate, the troll gate and the small orc-holes. I want them to fold out the stairs for us. The stairs, by the way, are your handiwork."

A hatch burst open with a clang, twenty steps above ground. Smoke billowed from the hatch and fire licked its edges. A figure appeared that could only be a balrog's horned head, and it thundered:

"What do you flying critters want of us? Has she hurt her wing and cannot fly so high, or is it merely to show off jewelry?"

"I want to check the stairs, deploy them, I want to see them work! And if we flew above, surely you would say I smuggle dwarves and vermin! Be glad that I'm not ordering the entire mechanism to be tested, and greetings, rogs of fire!" (He didn't know the balrog's name and assumed that others lurked behind the wall.)

"Hoho, you think we'd yield to such demands! Lucky are you to have the stairs pushed down. We also have a bunch of rope ladders!"  
"Don't you weasel there but start pushing then! As for the ladders, you can tie the whole bunch around your horns and imitate Ulmo in flames!"

With great grinding and noise, one flight of stairs after another started unfolding and locking in their place, held from above by cables of steel unrolling. With a thud, the stairway hit the ground. Dust swirled and in the cloud of dust, Beren managed to take a look at himself. First of all, he had no real weapon, but there was a hammer resembling the dwarvish axe on his belt. He wore a coat that looked surprising in its dull practicality. No adornments, but at least twenty pockets, all filled with something or other. The backpack he felt on his back was also chock full of stuff.

"That's a good enough ceremonial dress for a high smith," commented Luthien. She also wore no armor, and in fact her clothes were such as to emphasize... beautiful form. "Myself, I intend to strike orcs blind and make Balrogs burn a degree hotter with loathing. They forsook their fair form forever."

They climbed the stairs and reached a platform wherefrom other stairs went down. The balrog was the gate-master, castellan of the main gate. It was keeping respectful distance as if knowing it could hurt her.

"In return for pushing the stairs, humor us Mairon, what makes you dress thus strangely? Where is your armor? Did you break your mace? And what of her? Has Melkor invited you to a feast of elf-blood on the peaks of fire, perhaps?"

"No such thing is planned. I came to work and chose my humblest clothes. But I have a request of him that dwells deep under, and she has the same request. But the request is of rather private nature and I'd not comment further upon it here."

"Now surely you don't..."  
"Oh yes we do indeed."

"Go forth and try then, but don't you disappear from forges!"  
"I don't intend to."

* * *

The dream broke and Angband disappeared.

"You improvise well," she commented.  
"I monopolized the speaking," Beren said.

"I was the Balrog, mind you. You were supposed to speak first. Mairon outranks Thuringwethil and Balrogs respect him. He will speak to them while she holds back."

* * *

Sun was rising higher and they took to the dwarf-road. No living creature except birds and insects showed itself for the entire day. By dusk, they reached a place that Glorfindel had told to check.

"Are you totally sure this is the right mountain?"  
"There was only one road. This is it."

"Then the accessway must be here somewhere."  
"At the highest limit of the shadow of the southward peak, allowing for variations in season."

The shadow of the neigbouring mountain-peak was fading out and moving right each minute.

"They invent everything and then can't make a single road sign!"  
"That is perfectly natural of dwarves," she smiled calmly. "Don't worry. We will inspect the place thoroughly in morning."

"I would rather guess it's a hoax. After all, Glorfindel did not take the road through mountains. He climbed over them, while Ruinis hasn't even heard of this way."  
"I trust him not to tell us stories without substance behind them."  
"But he did caution us to avoid wasting time looking."  
"That is only prudent."

* * *

At that, a solid thud and crash came from their right. In the rock wall, a door had opened and two dwarves in thick helmets were stepping out. One immediately saw them, pointed at Huan and shouted a warning in Khuzdul. Luthien instantly shouted something back, and Beren could make no sense of it, except for the definite shortage of wovels.

The dwarf stood like frozen. Then he shouted into the door in Sindarin: "Revoke that!"

A third dwarf came with a surprised expression and was going to open his mouth, when his colleague motioned towards Luthien and Beren.

The third dwarf ran back into the door and much cursing ensued, then he came out and said calmly, also in Sindarin. "Revoked."

"Greetings, strangers. Your accent is terrifying, elf-maid, but you managed to speak the language of our kin. How is this?"  
"I speak but a little of what your distant relatives in Menegroth tried to teach me."  
"Oh, Menegroth! I know the stories of these elf-friends! I thought you were from Nargothrond."  
"We come from Nargothrond, but my birthplace is Menegroth."  
"I'm from Dorthionion," Beren added.

"We don't get visitors often," said the dwarf. "Before I even ask for your names, what is your business?"

"A friend told us that you have... a way."  
"Our ways are our own, and we have many of them."

"He mentioned a very special way."  
"I wonder who that friend could have been. Was he too perhaps from Menegroth?"

"No. In fact, he's from across the sea."  
"An elf of far shores knows of our way, hear that Darvi! Way to keep our secrets!"

"I admit the shortcoming, but won't admit a fault. It is fully beyond my control. You know the merchants living downstream in the city. They flap their tongue like birds flap wings, so news flies fast and far. What do you know of our way, and what do you want of it?"

"We know it takes people far, and we seek your permission to use it."  
"And you are?"

"Luthien am I and he is Beren. We are friends of Finrod. I wish I could bring greetings from Faldin, but we only saw him from distance this time. I'm the daughter of Elu from Doriath, Beren is the son of Barahir from Dorthonion, let the memory of his father and his land rest in peace."

"We need to talk of this in private, will you wait outside?"  
"Thank you for your patience, of course we do."

Darvi and the other dwarf went back indoors while the third remained stiff like stone. Only his eyelids could be seen blinking in the helmet's shadow. Minutes passed before the dwarves came back.

"We do indeed have a way. Are you sure you know where it takes you?"  
"I have heard the last exit is to the Fen of Serech, almost on the plains of Ard-Galen, the ashen plains with dead forests left by the surge of fire."

"And you want to go there?"  
"Yes."

"Can I ask for what?"  
"To travel north."

"You know what lies in the north?"  
"We know. Still we must travel north, survive and bring back something. Trust that we won't be asking you for a return trip."

"You hear this, Glomin? Are my ears okay?"  
"I hear the same, Darvi. They are mad. I've never seen mad people so well informed of their madness, though."


	14. The way

Author's note: my most sincere apologies for the confusion of drawven names (and genders too!). :P Master Doin is a woman, but dwarven women also have beards. Darvi is definitely Darvi. I know that only elven names are unique, and there are many dwarves by any name on Middle Earth, but that was his name first, so it is his. :P

* * *

"We did not reach consensus about permitting you to use the way. As such, I cannot currently grant you permission to enter."

"As practical people, perhaps you want to take a look at what we carry. A person's intent is sometimes best determined by their tools," Luthien proposed.

"Do we have time for that, Darvi?", Glomin asked.

"I can spare a few moments."

Luthien took her notebook and showed them her sketches of maps. She showed them Finrod's seeing glass and the direction-finding needle. On its bttom, Glomin discovered marks of two of dwarvish masters besides Finrod's seal of twin snakes.

"The elf with the ring of twin snakes is a respectable chap. He should grow a beard, though, or he'll never get himself married," noted Darvi.  
"Look what they make down the river", Glomin pointed, holding out a food bar.  
"Let me try," Darvi said and without further question, the bar had disappeared into his mouth.

"Tsgood."  
"Burglar saws. One has been used."

"A wood saw. How boring."  
"They have lots of medicine, I won't rummage here or I'll make a mess."

"Has someone hurt you, elf-maiden?"  
"You are attentive. I got a dagger in my shoulder about a week ago."

"Ouch. Sorry to hear."  
"No big deal, I'm recovering."

"Nails. Rope. Grapples. Wheels. You plan to climb."  
"We planned to. Our plan has changed. If you want them, they are yours."

"I have plenty. You might still need them. Thanks for the offer."

"What do we make this, Darvi?"  
"Elf-maiden from a hidden kingdom. Human guy from a destroyed land. Overgrown dog with strange eyes, long tongue. They aren't our enemies, I think."  
"They've had peaceful and mutual dealings with Felakgundu."  
"They've traded with our kin."

"I can tell you the recipe of flash-fire."

Darvi ang Glomin stilled, looking at each other.

"Do that and I'll speak for you before the others."  
"Same for me."

Luthien described the components and the mixing, the tools and materials, and said she didn't know what the white powder was, but that bats were involved somehow.

"Color me impressed."  
"I won't tell you where the batshit comes from, but I will speak for you."

They went and spoke to others of their kind, coming back with approval.

"Master Doin invites you to dinner. You should accept. First because her food-store is well equipped. Secondly because it's respectful. Finally because her grandfather helped build the way. She will explain how things work."

While Glomin and Darvi were still young and full of vigor, Doin's beard was white. She had still many years awaiting, but didn't seem the type to go breaking up rock. Her husband Morin was likewise aged, but bleached yellow still showed in his beard. Doin was the elected chief of the village in the mountain, on account of her greater age and experience. Morin ran a mine. Their ancestors had done a great deal building and fighting here, some centuries ago, when elves came from overseas and pressed the dark foe back. Darvi was an enterprising traveler who'd come from downstream. Glomin was a local builder who showed promise, and might take up Doin's burden some day. Doin's and Morin's children had grown to adulthood, but the son had died and the daughter lived westward along the mountain range.

Dinner was magnificent. As much as dwarves liked to work, they liked to eat well after a day's work, which made them profitable neighbours to any farmer who could be reached. They could grow their food but rarely bothered.

"Where do I start about the tube?"

"They know nothing, an elf recommended it and he wasn't Felakgundu, so they can't."

"It's a long pipe that runs through Ered Wethrin, taking turns to follow softer layers of rock. You push a barrel, not a real barrel but we call it so, into the tube here, and it blows you all the way there. The barrel has wheels on all sides. Its frame is rather open, but the back hatch is airtight. You apply brakes. Then you get seated firmly and close the back hatch. Wind cannot pass through the barrel and starts pushing you. You release the brakes and go... you count the glowing numbers on the ceiling to record your passage. Near the destination, you open the back hatch and hold your hat with teeth - wind starts passing through the barrel. You start losing speed. At the end you brake. Don't brake like an ass falling off a cliff, open the hatch early and you earn respect on arrival."

"You mean to say... that it's not a way one walks." Beren confirmed.  
"But of course not! Did your friend not tell you?", Darvi was surprised.  
"He was ambiguous."

The dwarf laughed a deep and thorough laugh.

"But the wind?", Luthien wanted to know.  
"Aha. See what questions come, we are underestimating these folk", Glomin noted. "Don't you worry, as long as Arda's heart stays warm, there will be pressure aplenty."

"You'll need a cargo barrel, though. That dog of yours in an animal," Darvi added. "It almost brought down our ceiling lantern."


	15. Of tubes and symbol rates

Doin advised them to travel in the morning.

They slept at what they considered her house, but in dwarvish cities, towns and even villages, where one house ended and others began, was not easy to determine. Unless there was a door and lock, to determine whose quarters you were in, you'd have to read subtle signs like who had worked the rock.

Proper doors were made of stone and considered defense installations, rather than privacy guards. Flimsy wooden doors were considered pointless. If a dwarf wanted to steal stuff, it didn't matter if there was a door. They would break in via walls, floors or ceilings. Theft was considered a great dishonor, though, but the art of lock-picking was a cherished skill. Theft wasn't practised much. For a dwarf to steal stuff, would make as much sense as a baker to go hungry. Thus, a door usually meant that someone didn't appreciate noise, or that you were entering a sauna or a bedroom.

The room they had entered, however, had doors... and strange doors indeed. Round metal doors with glasses to look through, all of them opening outwards, moving on their hinges without even a squeak... closing with a muffled click when their gaskets touched.

Beren gave the door a small push, and it didn't open. Then he pushed it properly like Darvi had, and it did. He slid it closed very carefully... and on the last moment, the door gained a force of its own, easily overcoming his careful hold and again closing with a click.

"Try these and you'll understand the principle," said Darvi and gave him two blocks of stone. Intending to examine them, he moved to shift them apart, but they attracted each other, sticking together. He had to use force to separate them, and with distance increasing, their attraction disappeared.

"Wow. Neat trick."

Luthien noticed his surprise and also came to see. She immediately turned one of them around and gave them back to Beren. "Try them this way, they should repel each other." He tried and they did repel - to close the last gap between them, considerable strength was needed.

"Would they be the same sort of stones, stones bestowed with memory, as Finrod used to make his direction-finding tool?"

"They are," Luthien smiled, happy to see that Beren was amused by dwarvish tricks, for she knew lots of them.

"Since we work with air here, and our engine offers lots of it, we want to ensure that doors are tightly closed and no forgetful person leaves the lever halfway. Otherwise we could cause a minor storm in the caves, annoying everyone greatly. Just cleaning up the dust would take a month," Darvi explained.

"Before you go, I must get confirmation that the way is clear and they aren't doing something dangerous on the other end. Come, let us pass some time."

Darvi went to a long hall which contained the so-called "tube". Here, it took the form of a large copper pipe supported by cast-iron pillars, with great hatches, all of them closed. It had small windows. Near the end of the tube was a crane-like mechanism for loading barrels into it, and then something strange.

"Do they sometimes forget to apply their brakes?", inquired Luthien.

"Haha, yes they do, but rarely. What you're seeing here at the end, is a shock absorber." That mechanism was about fifty steps long. "You can come into it at the speed of a racing horse, and it will stop the barrel with only minor damage. If you forget to attach your seatbelt, a concussion is guaranteed, though. Maybe not for you elves, but for us at least."

"I think I'll prefer to attach my seatbelt," she said.  
"A useful habit," he commented.

"Okay, let's wake them up."

Darvi started turning a wheel. Airflow in the tube was visibly growing. Grains of dust and stray pieces of hay went flying, and the structure vibrated, producing a hum. He put a sandglass on the table and waited, watching a dial.

"Alarm will sound on their end. Per agreement, they will block half the tube to signal. They have to respond with three pulses of pressure thirty seconds long. I'm ashamed to admit, but this tube is not a proper communication device. Its symbol rate is about ten pulses per minute. For barrel signals, we use a big safety margin to avoid mishaps. Do you know the speed a pressure-wave travels in air, by the way?"

The sandglass on his table had emptied a quarter of it, so Beren offered a guess. "Judging by the thing on your table, I would think it takes minutes to travel down this way. And if lighting strikes, thunder isn't instantly heard. I'd guess it travels fast, but doesn't travel instantly."

"That's a pretty good guess. Now if you replaced lightning with flash-fire, you could make an experiment and discover it," Darvi answered. "But we here measured it. The approximate length of this tube can be found by triangulating mountaintops. It's a hundred and three thousand steps. If you produce a pressure-wave at one end, it will reach the other end in five minutes and ten seconds, give or take a little. A dwarf with our best clock rode down the barrel once, and signaled back at agreed times. Another who didn't believe him repeated the test with a different clock."

"A pretty fast way of saying hello, but a rather inconvenient tool for longer talks," Luthien concluded.

"Still a lot faster than birds," Darvi responded. "A falcon flies it over an hour. During one flight of a falcon, assuming you send simple signals, you can exchange multiple questions and answers. And the enemy can bring down a falcon or spy it entering a hatch. This is something that foes cannot spy on."

"How fast would we get there?" asked Luthien.

"Considering a cargo barrel and your cute little dog, not as fast as a falcon, but quicker than a lazy crow."

"Can the tunnel break?"

"Don't worry. They listen to the sound it makes, on the other end. If it whistles or hums in the wrong way, or pressure doesn't match, they will signal of that. Then we reduce power and send a repair barrel to find out. Once repairs are done or lunchtime comes, they'll use their barrel's hatch to signal if they want to go forward or come back. Using the tube requires knowing its rules, but the minimum we need is simple. Here's the chart. Oh, and they did try paper first. People kept having their sheets blown down the tube."

Thus he handed Luthien a metal plate engraved with signals. When confirmation arrived from the other end, Darvi closed off the airflow, explained the layout and functioning of a cargo barrel to Luthien and Beren, helped them load their stuff and find a place where Huan could lay down comfortably, taught them how the brakes worked, and showed where the sack with spare parts was located. Then they lifted the barrel into the tube with the crane.

"Do they break down often?" inquired Luthien.

"Never happened in my lifetime, but we still have them carry spares. Do you think you could change a wheel?"

"In total darkness, no, but if Huan is on board, then I guess I could."

"Ah, I forgot to tell about the lights. We are so used to them that I don't normally explain it."

Darvi showed a package attached to the barrel's rear end - three thick glass bottles, each packed in layers of soft cloth. Each had a small sack of round marbles attached with string.

"If your barrel crashes, you don't want your light source to end up broken, or you might walk fifty miles in darkness. Thus the package is at the rear. Torches and lanterns are a bad idea in such a windy place. You just open the bottle and drop marbles into it. They start glowing and it lasts for days. Keep them, you might need them where you're going. Also, ask the folks down the tube for help. Tell them where you're going."

"Thank you."

"No big deal. The folks of the northern range, especially around the place where the elvish tower stands destroyed, near the slope where the elf-smith died in the hands of his sons... they are really fed up with Morgoth's ilk. There have been years when we've had to send them bacon, roots and wine down the tube for the entire year's length."

They finished the small-talk and exchanged good wishes.

The ride was disorienting and noisy. How the numbers of the ceiling glowed, neither Luthien nor Beren knew. Their glow must have been everlasting, for surely nobody stopped here to maintain them. Numbers passed quickly and Luthien thought she had noticed a few side hatches in the tunnel, but at such speed in pitch black darkness, these could have been tricks of the mind.


	16. Finrod's escape

"Ten! - Nine! - Eight!"

Not knowing if it would work, Beren pulled the hatch-lever sooner rather than late. The hatch turned open on its central axle just like Darvi had shown, and wind comparable to the strongest storm flew past them into the tunnel. Huan hid his head between paws and Luthien covered her ears, yelling "Four!" just to inform him and preparing to stomp on the brake pedal.

There was a dot of light at the end of the tunnel, that grew into a circle of light. They were coasting towards it slower and slower. She did not press the brake. They coasted to a stop, a few steps from the shock absorber. A dwarf with goggles and earmuffs waved at them and darted to adjust a mechanism. The wind slowed and then disappeared, diverted elsewhere.

More dwarves, wearing their ordinary helmets, came to greet them. She wished good day in Khuzdul and asked if they spoke Sindarin. The dwarf with earmuffs had come back and was eyeing Huan with total disbelief.

"I can speak Sindarin. So this is what they meant. They signaled unexpected allies... we did not quite know what to make of it. An elf, a human and..."

"A dog from across the sea, who understands language but won't speak."

"Be welcome then, dog from across the sea," the dwarf said, with a tinge of humor in his voice. "I never imagined I would have opportunity to walk underneath a dog with my head straight... but apparently, if I had a wish and a reason, now I finally could."

At that, Huan sat down, as if worried about dwarves crowding underneath him.

Beren introduced them this time, and explained the way they wanted to travel. His father had frequently traveled the lands of the Fens of Serech and had passed on his knowledge to Beren.

Dwarves offered to send a squad of warriors to escort them down the slope. Its commander was named Dáin, and took some time to talk with them before they exited the mountain. He took interest in the history and situation of Dorthonion and Doriath, of Nargothrond and the banks of Narog.

"Can you tell me, what do you think has become of the pass of Sirion?"  
"I think he's rebuilding his foothold. Be careful."

"Thanks, we'll definitely be. We have stairs going to mountaintops that no orc will climb and no bat perch upon. I wanted to investigate the possibility of a ground-level trade route southwards along the western bank. They are waging a war of attrition against us."

"He's got spiders too."

"We don't fear them. They are slow above the snow-line and quite soft if properly dealt with."  
"Wow. Apparenty, I could have spared myself from a whole world of danger, if I had crossed out of Dorthonion in winter."

"At the cost of having a few arms or legs frozen off, maybe you would have. But you made it out and that counts. You took the right path, too. If you had tried along the Rivil valley, nothing would have saved you."

"I guessed. They invaded Dorthonion along Rivil. We tried ambushing them three times, at the narrowest points. If only orcs had manned the front on their side, perhaps we could have swayed them to think twice. Unfortunately, they had trolls with above-average capacity for thought. When two trolls held their shields and one came with a hook-bearing tree-trunk, our barricades were short work."

"The way to stand against trolls is with pillars, anchors and wire. A bunch of wood they can push or pull, but a mess of cris-crossing steel hammered firmly into ground, that frustrates them to no end. The outermost pillars have to be thick, though, and defended heavily by crossbow from afar. We usually run the wires low, so our people can run straight-backed underneath, while trolls are forced to make wading movements and orcs must crouch to fit."

"That sounds like a smart tactic, if one has access to the proper tools. Our tools were crap, even proper rope was hard to come by. Not to speak of crossbows."

"Then I understand. No catapults either, I guess?"

"Elves of Nargothrond had barely managed to send us two and drawings... who came against us brought a hundred trolls."

"Myself, I'm surprised that elves did try at all."

"They did more than trying. When my father was about my age and I was a kid, there was a huge battle near the sources of Sirion. Our people had no proper intelligence of what was happening, but we saw the smoke and felt the earth tremble. We summoned all our forces and took positions on higher ground in the Rivil valley - to have a chance of preventing entry into Dorthonion.

What appeared from the north-east, was a nightmare come alive. Orcs marched in formations at least a thousand soldiers wide, simply covering the plain. On your side, where Ered Wethrin could be seen in distance, fireballs were seen flung up at mountains and great forest fires broke out. On that day, we thanked nature for making our valley inhospitable and barren.

A large formation of the orc army turned to enter along Rivil, though. We despaired, for they outnumbered us twenty to one, and had better weapons. When their front guard had already entered however, a force we hadn't noticed became visible and attacked them from the south - it was elves who had snuck in via high paths along the valley of Sirion.

These elves didn't fight them fair. They fought them strange and quirky. At first they ran silently and fast to within range and released their shot in dense clouds. Without waiting, they started retreating then. As one elf loosed their shot, they jumped behind their comrades, who did the same. Thus their line receded many steps per second, while orcs tried storming it over bodies. So fast it did recede that orcs were taking heavy losses without making contact. They were practically running backward while firing. Only when they had retreated to a natural ridge and jumped up it, did they draw swords and stand their ground. While this was happening, we made contact with the spearhead of the orcish forces. They broke through our line, only to discover that they had no reinforcements coming. Our warriors finished them and took our barricades back.

The elves however fought on. The ridge was long and everywhere along its length, great waste of life occurred. At long last, orcs retreated, and elves pursued them down the valley, to the plains where even greater battle was already entered.

Battle on the plain lasted for the entire day. In the dusk of evening, scouts reported that elves had exhausted their energy. Morgoth's armies were simply too numerous. At critical points, great fire-demons and serpents reinforced his lines, perhaps having more effect with the terror of undeterrably breaking through any barrier, than by the number of warriors slain.

When scouts reported that mouth of the valley was going under orcs' control, and retreating elves were to be kettled soon, a meeting was called fast and our forces went over the barricade down the valley. They didn't maneuver but went straight. Smoke and darkness gave them cover. Few of our people lived to tell the proper tale, but I think they were counted by orcs as their own. No orcish forces were dispatched to that part of the circle, and instead of getting kettled, elves could retreat upstream to our barricades.

Night had set and forces drew apart to rest. Finrod's main host had retreated south along Sirion, considering him fallen. They were driven back until their island fort, where they finally held their ground.

Finrod said that he'd been sure to die that night, and pledged to repay his debt to my father. That's how my father got his ring of emerald-eyes serpents, which I recently gave back to him, for no debt could remain on him, when he had saved my life. But on that night, he left carefully with his few remaining people, taking the highest path over mountains that could be traveled fast."


	17. Reed in the wind

"Let's have a look first", said Dain.

Instead of opening the door, he went to a shelf carved into the wall, took a brass eyepiece about the size of a bottle, screwed it onto a pipe sticking out from the ceiling, and started looking into it. He turned it this way and that, finally declaring: "Looks clear to me."

Opening the door required turning one key first, then withdrawing a long bolt from the door with a wheel, then turning a second key and doing something that Dain didn't let them watch. The door was no thinner than a foot of stone, its hinges were thick as a leg. "We are careful in these parts."

Nobody lurked outside, but Luthien immediately produced her seeing-glass and made a second check of their surroundings. Dain appreciated the care, for dwarves did not have such eyesight, nor did their door-sight augment anything but field of view. The periscope head where the pipe had led from indoors, stood disguised ten steps above their door.

"Neither can I see a thing. There is an eagle circling south and east of us, however. It might see us if it comes closer."

"Unless he's taken over their nesting grounds and holds their chicks hostage, I don't think they serve him yet. They have the benefit of choosing to leave. I wish we had wings like them," said Grumir, another of their escort.

"You could try to make yourself some wings," suggested Luthien.

"Ah, but then we'd need to lose a bit of weight. They say their bones are hollow, and that their muscles do not tire. How much of their body is heart and lung, I cannot know, but I guess they can work harder than we," the dwarf replied, and from a dwarf the admission that someone could work harder, was a difficult thing to get.

"And we have no power source light enough to replace muscles in that job," Dain added. "The best I know is a clear liquid produced from water. It starts decomposing on its own when heated a little. It produces insane amounts of steam and something else too, but it's uncontrollable and hard to tame. If it was cheap, we'd use it for weapons, but it's rather difficult to make."

"Maybe we could get spirit or oil to burn fast enough?"

"We could compress them. You know the cans kids play with?"

"Yeah, I know them. Nice flashes and bangs, but how do you keep compressing it? And it's not going to haul our cargo... though the concept of jumping from one mountain to another intrigues me. Just imagine, you could jump over the pass of Sirion with only your butt visible to the nameless one," Grumir grinned.

"Then you should armor your butt, for even his eyesight might scorch it severely! But yes, I would like to... however, if the result was crashing into a mountain like a swatted fly, then I'd have second thoughts," commented Dain on the practicalities.

"Yes, it would be far more practical to tunnel under Sirion."  
"Are you sure? He might have keen ears and a boring rig."

Walking downhill and chatting, the dwarves had failed to notice something. Luthien saw it and made a hand sign they knew. Immediately they fell silent and stepped closer to inquire. She pointed southwest along Sirion and gave her seeing-glass.

"The fuck," was the only comment that could be obtained from Dain.  
"That is over three hundred steps," said Grumir.  
"The sun's behind us now in morning," added Luthien, "but later, I might worry."

Beren also demanded to see.

What he saw haunted him.

On the eastern bank of Sirion there stood a tower. No such tower had existed! Two weeks back when they'd been there with Finrod, the riverbank had been covered in a thicket. Sleek, dark, tens of times higher than wide... a tower that couldn't be stone. It was either made of metal or something entirely odd. And if someone stood on the pinnacle of the tower with a seeing-glass better than Finrod's, even their squad might be noticed. In good weather, everything might be noticed within fifty miles.

"At least we know he didn't go to Angband," he hushed to Luthien, and she nodded.

At the foot of the tower, fortifications could be seen. They were incomplete.

* * *

Dwarves had suddenly lost the desire to proceed much downward to the plains.

"We must report of this and warn our kin. All dwarvish families must receive word quickly. This compromises our secrecy in more than one way. Messengers must also make for Felakgundu, our mutual agreement is such."

They parted where forest began. It was a young forest, regrown after the surge of fire, but it still turned the landscape in favour of elvish ways. Dain's squad began to climb back uphill while Beren and Luthien turned off the track and directly into the forest. Walking known tracks would be looking for trouble.

By sunset, they had reached the borderland of the fens. Ground turned soft and muddy, trees grew few. Flooding occurred here regularly and Sirion was surrounded by wide reed beds that sprang up every summer. Summer was underway and green reed was already taller than Luthien. Beren thought his head would stick out.

"Let's camouflage you with reeds, then," she suggested.

After ten minutes of handicraft and convincing Beren to wear a thick hat, he looked like a stump of a tree among reeds.

"Trees aren't known to walk around, my beloved."  
"Better that than nothing."

"Oh. Apparently, we are now of the same height."

After taking his first steps, Beren was boot deep in mud, while Luthien stood on top of it.

"Oh... I hadn't thought of that." Her backpack was lighter due to her injury and she was twice lighter too. "You're going to get tired walking like this. What do you think, should we try to fashion you skis, or should we attempt to improvise a boat? I can't make paddles from nothing, however. We could likewise try to cross the river and walk straight at Anfauglith while muddy from head to toe."


	18. Chase in the mud

"Degash, come here!"

"If it's edible, then I'll come. Otherwise stop whining and keep pace."

"No, it's not edible, but it might be dangerous."

"Uh, what makes this kind of tracks? Crorbat, we need your opinion."

"Oh, now you need my opinion. Yesterday..."

"Seriously, forget yesterday and Lugbut's idiotic ways, I didn't claim you were old enough to eat, I merely didn't want to butt heads with him."

"Yeah, and if Ogrol hadn't heard and kicked sense into him, perhaps I'd be on the menu instead of on the patrol!"

"See."

"This is not real. This must be some practical joke. There are no creatures with webbed feet of such size and weight."

"Do you suggest some orcling who should be on kitchen duty is running around here, of all places?!"

"I'm suggesting nothing. Do you have light?"

"Degash?"

"Ahoy snagaluk!? What are you slurping there in the mud? Anyone have a torch?" - "Cry that again and we'll come quickly. Your ass will be our torch!"

"Who said that?"

"He! - He! - He! - No, it was he! - No I wasn't!"

Punching and splashes could be heard in darkness and Degash yelled, "Idiots, I wanted a name!"

Crorbat listed all the creatures he knew to inhabits these reeds, commenting on their taste, and insisted this was none. He needed light. There was none to be had. Tinders were wet, spark-stones deep in bags. He tried sniffing the reeds.

"It smells of wolf. A male wolf. Oh, and there is man-flesh! A hunter and a dog, perhaps?"

"But that's nonsense! A hunter would make prints of your arm's depth, and a dog would wander and leave a separate trail," Graugleg, their squad-chief, interfered. Still, Crorbat was the eldest and knew these parts. "Which way does the track go?"

"By the prints, it goes downstream. By the reeds, it maybe goes upstream, but I cannot tell for sure. I would really appreciate light."

"We can't waste our time. Degash, take these snagaluk and go upstream. Crorbat, the rest of you bunch, we'll go downstream. If you find nothing, return and we meet at the cache-tree. If we find nothing, we do the same."

"Yes, durba," said Degash and took the six newcomers while the four more experienced orcs ventured downstream.

The reeds seemed indeed to bend in the northern direction, even if the strange prints seemed to walk south.

He could smell neither wolf nor man-flesh. He could only smell mud and hear bitterns, or "reed-bulls" as they were sometimes called.

Splash-splash.

Were these the splashes of his squad, or other splashes? Or splashes of fish?

They waded on.

Degash tried to count the splashes, to tell apart those of his team from any others. That didn't help.

He made the motion to stop but the damn imbeciles didn't know the gesture.

"STOP, retard, don't you know the signs?" - "I know I know, don't hurt more!"

He let go of the retard and listened. Silence and bitterns calling.

Then a massive splash upstream of them.

Some the them instinctively drew weapons. Degash pulled his spear from the mud and listened more. Nothing.

"We move fast for the next thousand steps! Weapons ready, go!"

Splash-splash-splash-splash-splash.../...

The track seemed fresher. There was a scent... of bird and serpent!

"Stop!"

For a moment he heard something else than the call of bitterns. Then he heard something big swim past them in the river. Something wiggled in the reed towards the land. Something was encircling them. SPLASH. SPLASH. SPLASH. Something big was coming at them from the north.

Crorbat made a gesture and the southbound team stopped.

"They scream like a wolf was licking out their liver." - "Nope, it's more like they were thrown on spikes."

The screaming spread in every direction and panicked splashes could be heard. Some of them must have jumped in the river.

They turned north, for none of them was a coward, but they did fear a little.

Whatever had got the northern team must have been worthy of fear.

They almost speared Degash and two of the snagaluk when they came running at them, shaking, without weapons, covered in mud.

"What on earth was that?"

"I... I... I don't know! It encircled us. It was massive, and then it dashed at us. I think I saw a great lizard, a great serpent with feet, at least a dozen steps long! Let's get out of here!"

"Okay, maybe we should get out of here. Let's go to the cache tree and light a fire."

Luthien came back.

Beren had been incredibly worried when she had told him and Huan to proceed north, and gone back south to meet the orc-pack.

She had calmed him, saying that they both knew - they worked nicely together. Sometimes however, life demanded that they work apart. Beren walked with splashes, Huan couldn't conceal the light of his eyes. They had to trust her to return and keep their distance from the orc-pack. Trusting someone you loved to return from danger was hard, very hard.

"I must be sure that neither of you will hear me."

When he'd heard the shrieking, panicked jumps, running and multiple orcs falling into the river, he knew why Luthien was not to be heard. What she had conjured up in their minds, was something scary enough to make them swim, and orcs absolutely hated water. Even patrolling in reed-beds was too much for them, for water was a connection to Ulmo, who was not their master yet powerful.

"If that worries you, I think none of them drowned. But their squad is scattered and wont' follow us before sunrise. Rumours of eater-ducks and sea-serpents might spread."

They proceeded northward... the footwear they had assembled for Beren were triangular things made of branches, twigs, string and interwoven reed. If ducks grew tall as men, they'd have exactly that sort of webbed feet. 


	19. The hour of the wolf

Sirion grew knee-deep and flowed wide on a rocky plateau. "Now is the time to cross. Shall we rest first and observe, or do it immediately?", Luthien wanted to know.

Huan waded into the river and started drinking from it. Apparently, it was not polluted here and now. Even Morgoth's power could not keep something polluted when rain fell on slopes and constantly replenished it.

Beren thought about it this way and that. "I think we should wade a bit downstream and cross. They might still be tracking us. That will throw them off track."

"Good idea, let's do it so."

She folded her coat and trousers up and attached the coat to her belt, and took her boots on her shoulder. Beren's boots were already soaked with every possible flavour of mud, and could only become clean from crossing Sirion. They waded back about three-hundred steps and entered the reeds on the eastern riverside carefully, as to leave no visible sign. Beren's reed-shoes floated their way downstream towards the sea.

At the far edge of the reed-bed, Luthien again scanned the horizon with the seeing-glass. Anfauglith was flat. Terrifyingly flat and barren. Hilltops had stumps of trees.

Here, near Sirion, grass grew on lower places. Occasionally grass was tall. Far away in distance, a permanent system of clouds hovered on horizon. That was Angband. You could not get lost here. Angband's clouds were visible two hundred kilometers away, and its fires at a distance of a day's walk.

"I would go along low places," Beren advised.

"I would do likewise."

"How far do your illusions reach?", he inquired.

"As far as my voice usually, but if I draw attention using something other than voice, then someone who didn't hear me can be influenced. The key is getting attention. Song is but a method."

"If I screamed my lungs out and ran from you, could you pretend to be something scary, maybe a dragon?"

"No. A dragon is out of perspective. Far beyond my ability. I could pretend to be a troll or large spider, a big water-lizard or a bear perhaps... but that would be pointless. I think we should already now prepare to assume our roles. Huan can be a large werewolf. I can perhaps alter the glow in his eyes to something more scary and fire-like."

* * *

They had practised those roles every night. Luthien had advised and corrected his way of speaking to make it more realistic. She had played Balrogs agaist Beren's Mairon, she had played orcs, wolves and spiders. She had not... played Morgoth, but had shown him an approximation from Ruinis' memories. He had not stumbled, addressing the cloud of dread as his master, had presented his case and asked it for its crown. His words had been strained but within the range of possibility. She had no point of reference to weigh them against. Did Mairon behave the same way at his master's throne, as he behaved where he'd been observed?

When discussing that, Beren had suggested modeling Mairon's behaviour after Feänor, of whom many tales circulated and songs had been written. They had been competitors in craft, after all. Luthien agreed it wasn't a bad reference point. It gave you some leverage to look into... fire.

* * *

For the first half-day, they walked undisturbed. Every five minutes they stopped, and Luthien did a full circle with the seeing-glass.

Then, at about two hours past noon, she motioned downwards and without saying a word, they all crouched down in the shallow grass.

A look with the seeing-glass confirmed it. Orcs, lots of orcs moving south in a column. Ten trolls slouching after them. Worse than that, orcs sitting on baskets on the backs of trolls, armed with bows.

"They will pass near, we must conceal ourselves. Get some grass quickly!", she advised while grabbing handfuls of straw and assembling them on Huan, who wished he'd been a bit smaller and colored dark yellow instead of the gray he was.

Beren put his backpack away and covered it with grass, then slid close to Luthien, who was nearly invisible by that time. She helped cover him better and they stilled, waiting.

"Could they see the reflection of your lens?", he asked.  
"Oh. Yes they could. Thanks for reminding!", she confirmed and put it away.

The good thing about orcs was - orcs were noisy.

Two hundred bored orcs, some of them singing an orcish battle-song, could be heard a mile away. Trolls were not light-footed either. Thumping were their steps and even their breathing was quite heavy.

It would be a game of eyes, not ears.

"I won't talk with you for a while now, because I'm trying to notice anyone who has noticed us. At the moment of being noticed, I still have a chance to influence their thought and make us seem something else. Don't forget that you could turn into Mairon watching clouds with Thuringwethil after a delicious lunch, with their werewolf steed yawning nearby."

The column passed.

She strained her mind and could hear some of the thoughts of the passing folk.  
It was a cacophony of random fragments.

Some were wondering how long they'd march today. It was well past lunch-time.  
Some were forcing themselves to keep up, to ignore their pain. Falling behind would be punished.  
Some wondered why the chieftain was secretive.  
Some hoped to go to Dorthonion.  
Some feared getting marched to Doriath or the Guarded Plains.  
Some complained about lack of wagons, having to carry too much cargo.  
Some... were looking for a place where to desert.

"I'm surprised," he said when Luthien described what she had sensed.

"They are creatures like us. With regard to elves... they are more like us than we usually care to admit. It is said that the first orcs were bred from captive elves, a very long time ago. Morgoth wasn't too successful at recruiting Maiar. Unlike Aule who made dwarves, he lacked the necessary skill to create a form of life. So he took what he could and twisted it to his purposes. That he was good at. I can't and do not want to think of what he might have done... but it's clear he did much. The bridge is long and strained, cracking and threatening to snap... but a bridge exists which I can travel. It is easier to catch fragments of an orc's thoughts."

* * *

They rose and walked northwards.

By evening, another column of orcs came the same way. Perhaps to discourage desertion, many higher-ranking orcs carried torches, which made them easy to notice from afar.

Beren advised moving aside and time existed to do that. They took distance from the approaching column and hid behind a small hill.

Their hiding-place turned out to be a good place for staying the night. Ancient stone walls stood waist-high, marking the place of something that had been.

Luthien noted that the construction method of the walls suggested Noldorin elves. "Maybe it was some outpost that was overrun by clouds of flame." Beren tried to visualize the shape of the building. Yes, it could have been an outpost. After its defenders falling, it would have been looted and razed to the ground.

Yielding to some strange call of curiosity, he went where the gate would have stood... took a dwarvish pick-axe and plowed the ground a little, uncovering a bracelet, a broken dagger... and possibly, part of the hand which held them once. He let the bone continue its rest, but took the objects for Luthien to see.

She brushed the bracelet clean, examined the decorations and stayed silent for a while, looking at the dagger.

"The dagger or the walls remember a bit. It was winter. It was night probably. Most slept, but he kept watch. The gate was thrown down suddenly and foes burst in, numbering many. He fought them, buying time for his companions to grab weapons. He struck it through the armor of an enemy, and broke it, trying to pull it out. One man cannot fight a company. He fell at the gate. Days later, ash started falling from the sky and buried his remains."

"I wish I could read that much from the past."

"You shouldn't consider my description reliable, it contains a lot of guesswork. But besides the past, I also saw a glimpse from future. We better light a fire. We better light a fire ambitious enough to signal that we fear nothing, for this night, a visit will be paid. Our presence has been noticed already."

* * *

They found old logs. The outpost hadn't been overrun by liquid fire flowing along plains, but fiery clouds had touched it. Little was to be found. Still, with some careful work, they could get a fire going that pressed darkness beyond the walls.

"The time is soon. Beren, Huan, remember our roles."

They sat silently by the fireside while Luthien stretched out her mind to chart the darkness around them. She had felt someone's presence before, and felt it again.

Not long had passed when a werewolf slowly slunk in from the gate, cautious, distrusting.

Huan rose but Beren and Luthien kept sitting.

"Greetings, master, messenger and sibling," spoke the wolf.  
"Greetings. I wasn't expecting company," Beren said, letting go of Luthien's hand.

"Neither did I hope to find you here. But the fire drew my curiosity. At first I thought of orcish deserters, for I've been tasked with hunting them down... then I understood that deserters would not light a fire. Because of the old walls, I for a moment suspected I'd see elves, and considered if I wanted to see them or should bring reinforcements... but then I heard her talk and you reply. Are you going to Angband?"

"We are. Since we have a companion who can't fly, we are making rather leisurely progress. Unfortunately your sibling here doesn't know how to speak yet. I hope he learns, for his ancestors would be proud of that."

"I also hope so. To understand the speech of others is a blessing. But master, do you not fear to camp in an elvish stronghold of old times? They say that it is haunted, and therefore its walls were torn low. It is said that sometimes, on the darkest nights, conversations in their tongue can be heard here, and sometimes a figure stands guard at the gate, challenging anyone who approaches."

"We already know that figure. Yes, an elf-warrior failed his comrades here, some days before the Battle of Flowing Fire. For some reason, he still hasn't let go. He was not talkative with me, and didn't tell what keeps him, but he won't bother us."

"Oh. I didn't imagine you had already talked to him."

"I found his bracelet and his broken dagger, take a look. They contain some of him, apparently. Perhaps these are the items that keep him from departing?"

The werewolf didn't really dare to come very close to the elvish bracelet and dagger. Perhaps the ghost-story which Beren had accepted and blown alight with fresh flame... perhaps it was something the werewolf really feared. Perhaps on some nights indeed, an elvish wraith had been seen standing guard at the gate, or someone had told someone that they felt so.

"Do you have more blood?", she asked.  
"Nope, I think we've run out. I have wine, though," he suggested.  
"Thanks. I think that for the time, it will do," she accepted the wine-flask.  
"So, how do you propose approaching him with this wish?", she inquired.  
"Well... I have some ideas, but I think we should discuss them a bit later," he replied.

"I should run now," the werewolf said. "I have overstayed my time here. May your plans succeed, master Thu!"

"Thanks, and may your hunt go smoothly," Beren wished goodbye.

"Bye!", added Luthien.


	20. Wrecked star

Luthien held up the illusion until she no longer sensed the werewolf in distance.

When she let the illusion shatter, she found that her hands were shaking. No, she was shaking all over, her heart was beating at least a hundred and fifty times per minute, and she felt as if the world was breaking down.

Beren hugged her and said soothing words. She said nothing at first, trying to breathe slowly and bring her heart back under control. Shaking became shivers, and gradually the shivers receded. After about ten minutes, Luthien felt she could speak properly without splitting every word in half.

* * *

"Sorry, I was... unprepared... I overstrained myself."

"Are you better now? Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I am... thank you... you already did what you could. Your words helped. I have never... fought so hard to keep an illusion from being broken. That wolf, Dragluin is his name, he is Mairon's old friend. The fight between my mind and his... consumed me entirely. For many times, I sensed him doubting the reality of what he saw. I bluffed my way forward, adjusted appearances on the run... it was so hard."

"Yet I think you prevailed."  
"I also think so... but we must leave before morning. I could not do this in light."

"Don't worry, there will be less light where we're going."  
"A strange comfort, but yes, I know."

Neither of them slept properly on that night. Luthien tried to, but could regardless feel Beren walking the perimeter of the walls with a bow. Beren tried next, but had dreams of a conversation with a werewolf going wrong, and the wolf attacking him before he could even stand... but then somehow, he found that the wolf was weak and harmless, and mere touch of his hands burned the creature. He realized his hands were fire given form, and he was Mairon... and couldn't turn back. Everything he would touch, would burn. Then he woke up.

"What is it, beloved? You stopped breathing and then coughed terribly."  
"A nightmare. I have trouble sleeping after this."

"Not much better here. I don't know if I can pick up the necessary strength during the days we travel."

* * *

Beren tried going back to sleep. Luthien watched the night around them, thinking. She remembered Ruinis telling the words of her changing. Words that Luthien didn't really think she would need... words that could go wrong. She analyzed them, took them apart, put them back this way and that... and didn't say them.

These weren't the words she wanted. Yavanna's gift to the Avari had side effects. They were words for turning into living creatures. She could say them and perhaps... turn into a human woman... but a vampire built on the foundation of a human woman? She didn't know what Mairon had done. She couldn't repeat that. Neither could she guess what Mairon's physical form was made from. He had carried an elf-like appearance. That meant nothing. Appearances were his specialty.

Still she thought of using the words somehow. If fighting one mind trying to pierce her camouflage had been so hard - what would fighting a hundred minds be like? Would it be impossible? Would it be easier by some strange logic? Finrod had succeeded for long with his song of concealment. If Finrod could do it, Luthien must be able to.

Why had seven orcs been so easy? Why had a single werewolf offered such resistance?

She wished that she knew answers.

* * *

The full glory of Anfauglith was still ahead, but it got worse already.

No natural sources of water. No green and living plants. The grass stopped growing too. Ash, mud, more ash, hills of stone, even more ash.

"How do they feed themselves?", asked Beren.

"Rumours tell that he turns mere earth into their fodder by some art, but they also collect their share of the surrounding lands and ship it back on wagon trains and troll-back."

"How can earth be turned to anything edible?"

"Plants do it, don't they? I think he knows more than he lets others see. Maybe he has modified them. Even dwarves know a trick of turning limestone and water into pure alcohol. It's a trick, a prank... nothing practical. You need a specially customized workshop and the process has really inefficient steps. Burning a cartload of fuel, you get a few spoonfuls of alcohol, but for the giggles of it, you can turn mere stone into a substance that nourishes a little."

Beren was impressed, and started imaginging dwarves brewing ale from stone.

Luthien laughed and confirmed there was no chance of that.

* * *

"We have water for ten days and some wine. Thanks to the help of all the people on our way, our food store suffices for a month."

"Maybe we should leave some behind in hidden caches," Beren proposed.

"You have a point. A bottle and some dwarvish food-bars hidden at a memorable place might save the day on our return trip."

They found a particularly odd-shaped ridge and went to check for possibilities of caching some of their stuff.

What they found was not what they expected.

A whole army had fallen here. Most of their weapons still lay around.

Burnt tatters of dwarvish clothes flapped here and there, covering soldiers mummified by dry ash. Orcs lay among the dwarves, sprawled this way and that. Swords and axes could be seen sticking from ash. Spears that had landed in ground still pointed their backs at the sky. Beren slipped on a shield.

"This doesn't look like a good place," he said.

"I agree. This place feels evil and makes me nauseous. But before we leave, I want to see what that is," she pointed at the top of the ridge, where a number of iron spears were sticking out, all from the same crevice in rock. Their odd formation looked like a spiky flower."

"It signifies something."

"Whoever left it, must have thought nothing less would last the weather."

"They had something to say."

* * *

/ Fire rushed from mountains, streams and clouds of it. /  
/ We waded fire. Some breathed it and died. /  
/ We seized this hill, hewing orcs from our way. /  
/ Fifteen of us remained, none of them. /  
/ These are our names./

/ Among the orcs we found a strange thing. Don't look for it here. /  
/ If you know our tongue, look for it at [random letters]. /  
/ The ground still burns, but we go for Mithrim now. /  
/ When it cools, they will surely come out of their castle. /  
/ Fare you well, stranger. /

"They found something among orcs that they bothered to write a message about, hammered into a helmet, disguised as decoration."  
"And they wrote its location, but used secret arts of writing."

"It's a widespread cipher actually, but to uncover the secret, you need to guess its mode and know a key."  
"What does a key to such things look like?"

"A word. A series of numbers. Anything. I believe the key is either something they share among their kind, or something we are supposed to learn from this stuff here."  
"Try spears, spear, hill, ridge, fire... try helmet."

She tried. Nonsense came of her attempts to decode it.  
"Try itself."

She transformed each letter with itself, and a pattern emerged which reminded of a broken dwarven word. It felt right. She tried subtraction instead of addition. She tried the rare modes using multiplication and division. Beren couldn't help, for he barely knew what a fraction was, and working with fractions was a dark art for him. Then she tried transforming each letter and using their product to transform the next letter, the same way and the other way.

"They transformed each letter with itself and used its product on the next letter, alternating between forward and reverse transforms to avoid overflowing their system."  
"Clever bastards."

After half an hour of working with her notepad and spending three pages...

/ "a stone on the peak" /

They looked around.

The ridge had many peaks, littered with debris. One peak had a visibly larger rock.  
They looked around and found nothing, eventually moving the rock, using pick-axes for leverage.  
Under the rock was a box.

The box was dwarvish, but what came from opening it, surprised them both.  
It was a gold necklace with a broken chain, bearing a single red stone.  
The stone was set at the center of a small flaming star.  
The star was made of thin material, and barely held the stone.  
It was twisted and crumpled, some of its rays torn off.

On top of the stone was a paper note in Khuzdul, with an exclamation point at the end.

"Dwarves leave that kind of stuff behind?"  
"It wasn't theirs. Wait, don't touch it!"

Too late. Beren had touched the stone and they were blinded by a flash of red and a rush of heat. The paper note was smoking a little.

"That hurt. I wonder when I'll see again. If I'll see again."  
"I managed to look away. Let me see your eyes."

She tried her healing skills on his eyes, even if there was no visible damage. He started regaining his vision, though everything seemed bluish green. Luthien was green and the red stone seemed black. Gradually, normality returned.

"I'm regardless glad that you ignored my warning," she said. "That is Feänor's necklace. Don't ask. Maybe they found it. Maybe orcs were transporting it. Once found and handled, it kind of attracts attention."

"My next question is pretty dumb. Why does it do that?"

"I wish I could answer. Feänor wore no crown. He wore a necklace and songs tell that upon him, the stone glowed soft red, emitting a comforting light that soothed. It also accepted the touch of Nerdanel, becoming a little brighter and warmer. If his sons touched it, it already became alarmingly bright. Anyone else, and its light was violent, burning and blinding. He carried it to battle. When he grew weak and Balrogs finally started landing hits on him, that little stone initially scared off the great creatures. It exploded with light that was stronger than anything they'd seen. They overcame and extinquished that light."


	21. Speak your business and enter

They wondered if they should take it - after all, the dwarves had left it behind.

"This if anything is the perfect device to attract attention."

"Maybe we should go back and ask Thingol if he really wants a Silmaril?"

"Maybe we should. At least this one isn't cursed."

"Have you thought of the implications if we succeed?"

"We might strike a wedge between Morgoth and Mairon. I predict a war will start. I comfort myself with the near-certainty that war will start anyway. Perhaps it's better if it starts out of Morgoth losing his temper, rather than Mairon's calculated opinion."

* * *

They left some of their food and water on the ridge near the spears, and in multiple other places.

The wrecked necklace could only be carried in a roll of cloth. Every other mode of carrying seemed to irritate it.

Landscape wasn't much to cheer about, but became flatter. Plains of cooled lava with large cracks. Some disguised by ash, some deep enough to fall into, and difficult to jump over. Occasional hills had survived the lava flows, but had received a polishing from pyroclastic clouds.

Thangorodrim's triple peaks were now high above horizon. Sunlight had fallen behind. Deep gray clouds hovered at an altitude of a few hundred steps. This was a land where day was twilight and night was utter darkness. Nothing properly decomposed in this land, and they came across several skeletons in elvish clothes. Occasional weapons could be seen littering the ground, also mostly elvish. Orcs wouldn't pick those up, for many of these weapons had a will of their own, turning treacherous in wrong hands.

Roads became visible in the grayness, joining now and again on the approach. Beren and Luthien avoided them, walking as far as they could from established routes of movement.

A final line of hills rose before them. The fortunate thing about Angband was that it didn't have guard towers before the main fortification. Its sheer size made pre-fortifications needless.

When they reached the hilltops, they stopped.

The noise from the other side could only indicate an army. They spied upon it... it was thousands of orcs practising for war. Huan hesitated to move forward, and Luthien understood, telling him:

"I feel that tonight, our time has come to part. If you care to wait for us, I would be grateful. I would hope we could meet again. I believe you might be safe here for a while, because the hilltop is rocky and its grey matches yours. Our weapons and excess baggage we will leave here with you. We'll also leave food and water. If you see creatures of Morgoth coming, please run. I know that you can outrun them. Take some snacks from our caches and you will reach where you wish."

Huan understood that and didn't oppose.

Was his final and third time of speaking... meant to tell Elu Thingol that Luthien didn't come back from Angband?

* * *

They waited, watching orcs practise their maneuvering and swordcraft.

Beren noted that these weren't the kind of orcs that Finrod had once repelled from the Rivil valley. These here had a well-functioning system of signals... they weren't lead by a Balrog with powers of the mind. An orc chieftain, clearly a chieftain of great standing among his kind, directed the excercises from his camp. Wolves could be seen running there and back as couriers, horns and flag-signs were used.

By evening, the army gathered its goods and a seemingly endless train of troll-pulled wagons issued from the gates of Angband, carrying provisions for a long journey and components of war machines. The majority of the orcish army turned to march south. A small contingent of those wounded in the excercises limped back to Angband.

"I believe war is starting regardless of what we do here," Luthien commented. "That army isn't going on a picnic. The're well fed, clothed, armed and equipped. They are going out there to accomplish something. By the looks of them, I fear they might try Nargothrond or Doriath. Could this mean that Mairon sent another messenger?", she guessed.

"If they knew of our venture, how far do you think they'd let us proceed before trying to capture us?", asked Beren. "And should we prefer to be captured or to die? Also, they aren't forcing their wounded to war anymore. Apparently, it's a time of plenty in Angband, a time when even a dark lord can be magnanimous. In fact, I see them supporting their wounded. Someone in there has stumbled on a handful of sense."

They discussed and waited, watching the orcs proceed.

* * *

"Now is our time."

Under cover of darkness, they walked fast down the hills and across the plain, towards the gate, adjusting their path to come behind the orcs.

The smaller orc-host reached the gate. Horns were blown. Earth was shaking as the great gate opened for five minutes. Half-open was where it stopped. Orcs started marching in. After they had finished, while Beren and Luthien were still perhaps a mile away, the gate started closing.

That's when Beren unfurled the roll of cloth and moved his fingers closer and closer to the red stone of the necklace, which became brighter and brighter. Whoever paid attention would see a light growing in power, or perhaps approaching.

Then he touched it fully and they were surrounded by a bubble of sparkling red light. Gray turned to ruby, black stones reflected pink, it was a storm of color that bewildered and must have been visible far into Angband, for wolves started howling far.

Not surprisingly, a horn-blow followed. Then an answer. Then a different blow. Earth stopped shaking, and the gate stopped closing.

Finally, when his fingers started hurting from the heat, he let the stone dangle freely and it merely glowed. Darkness took over everything. Luthien, walking by his side, had bat-wings and her neck was bandaged up. On her belt was Glorfindel's dagger. He was his own nightmare from Tol Siron, just without the armor and mace.

"Name yourself and state your business, walkers in the dark!"

It could only be the gate-master, the voice was loud and boomed further than an arrow would fly. Its owner was nowhere to be seen. The balrog would be watching them. Had Luthien managed to weave an illusion proof against unseen eyes?

* * *

They walked silently onwards for ten seconds, until Beren yelled:

"Care to guess? I come bearing precious stones and dire warnings, while we both have a request to make. Oh, and my companion has hurt her wing and neck. An elf of Aman stabbed her, but she will heal. Do you admit people with elvish daggers, or should she cast it off?"

"I see her fine, don't you worry. As for you, I still can't make out anything. Have you turned invisible or sent your disembodied sense of humor?"

"My form is ordinary, check your eyes. Sorry for the light-show. After putting on clean clothes and polishing my boots too, I wanted to sparkle a bit."

"How sentimental," roared the balrog. "Trust me, we won't slam the gate in your face, but hurry, trolls are feeling bored, can't you hear them farting! As for elvish blades, bring none in this castle. Sharp rubbish goes in the bin."

"So be it, there it goes!", said Luthien, and her dagger flew at least fifty steps sideways.

Beren continued the conversation of shouting from afar, and Luthien's magic seemed to amplify his voice to match the Balrog's.

"Oh, it's trolls, I thought orcs were practising some music! I wonder if my eyes will see the day when this rig moves with steam!"

"It moves well enough with troll fart, and they get some excercise! And I see you now, but that's outrageous! Have you come to resign? Are you going dancing? Where are your weapons? Have you found a new purpose in making jewelry? What's that glowing thing?"

"Weather looked so nice that I left my armor at Barad Sirion. Also, the island is a mess, almost gone - Findarato had his way with it. Barad Sirion is my new fort. As for the glowing thing, how come you cannot recognize it? It's something our lord wanted. See -"

"Don't wave it like that, it scares trolls shitless and blinds others too! No, I don't recognize it. It's worse than the Silmarils, if you ask me."  
"Well, try to rake your memory a little. Surely you have seen it?"

The balrog drew a blank.

"Were it not your boys who got a certain elf-smith, on the slopes of Wethrin?"

The balrog stopped in thought, then grabbing at air and raising a fist.

"You come walking though this gate with Feänaro's necklace dangling like a cat toy?"  
"Yes I do. I haven't got a cat to match, though."

"Where. Where did you find it?"  
"Oh, most likely where you folks left it."

"My folks never got their hands on it. The elf they hammered down, but then his sons demanded some attention. They received their share of attention, but snatched the king away behind our backs. He was dead or dying, though. I guessed they took the necklace."

"Apparently not so. Your colleages sent it flying and it fell beside a rock. Decades passed and eventually a mouse built its nest nearby. For many times it made the error of touching the stone, triggering its power. Orcs reported strange flashes. I knew what does those tricks, went searching and found it."

"Then you have done well, and had luck on your side."  
"That I did. Thanks for holding the gate for us."

"No big deal. Go and take it to him, perhaps he'll be amused. I will meanwhile speculate about the meaning of you two walking thusly."

That's when Luthien coughed, spat some blood into the ash and said with a voice that was broken and strong at the same time.

"Please hold the rumour mill for us too, will you, guardian? At least for today? We aren't here on private matters only."  
"For two hours, but at the meeting, word gets out."

"You could skip the meeting. Or try to be a bit vague at least. Please."

"See, Mairon, she just smiles at you and then incites gross negligence! Be careful, or you might get in trouble with her! Okay, maybe there will be some guessing before clarity dawns on them all, but - whether you want it or not - a list of all who passed and how, shall be given to the next on duty."

"No big deal. I know that is your duty. Do it well."

* * *

The balrog blew his horn, and Luthien couldn't hear herself for a while, but kept up her song. The gate started shutting behind them, raising dust and shaking everything. They walked forward with the glowing necklace dangling from Beren's hand lighting their way.

Looking around, hundreds of eyes could be seen reflecting back every moment.

Orcs stopped work. Trolls covered their eyes, dove for cover or stumbled into each other. Five balrogs could be seen casting glances and discussing from afar, from the smaller gate that lead to the serpent-caves. Luthien sang ever more quietly, trying to conserve strength. Her voice was exhausted and she was short of breath. For at the gate, she had sang loud and clear. Like sea rushing in from between rocks, her illusion had flooded Angband, but now she felt the tide was turning back.

Luthien lowered her voice and tried to get more breath. The illusion didn't break, though. Feänor's shining stone in Angband's darkening evening was granting her abilities she hadn't dreamt off. If she stayed focused, she could cause nothing short of mass hallucination... perhaps without singing a word. She didn't try anything more than her plan outlined, though. Finrod had explained that much. Having and plan and sticking to it mattered.


	22. Downward path

They didn't stray from their path - nor stop to look around.

Looking at something could distract you. Luthien could not afford to notice anything that distracted. Angband had many creatures beyond her powers of mind. She was busy building the illusion that shielded them.

Night helped a lot, however. Even if her illusion had broken for a moment or two, the light of the necklace would have made it difficult to determine what had happened.

Thus it was Beren who did the looking and acted as her eyes and ears. He saw the great structures hewn of rock with balrogs' power and Mairon's magic and technology, while she ignored them.

Mairon's reputation also shielded them. Not only was he a changer of forms, but for most purposes, he was the architect of this fortress. Angband was not called "the hells of iron" for no reason. When Morgoth had been in Valinor, first as a prisoner and then playing his game of revenge, Mairon had chosen the old fortress of Angband instead of Utumno. Mairon liked working with volcanic processes and preferred metal as his material of choice. The hells of iron were indeed reinforced and clad with steel.

Most of the mass was basalt, though. After a few centuries of developing well-placed fractures, a plateau of rock which was the current Angband had risen at a steady pace. Carried by great pressure underneath it, propelled by an earthquake each day, Angband had risen many meters each year.

Initially balrogs had grumbled about "digging pointless trenches in rock". Mairon had introduced them to his design, gained their respect and their attitude had changed. No fortification - no castle, no bunker, nothing before, had ever had a comparable amount of rock shielding it.

Cris-crossing over the streets hewn into rock, was a maze of steel bridges and support pillars. Even if the powers of gods were unleashed upon this place, it would not immediately crumble, just crack and flex. Tunnels were properly reinforced with arcs of wavy metal. Great pipes were ready to transport rainwater deep into the bowels of earth. If someone dared to take climate away from their hands and make it rain (or if indeed Morgoth deemed it so), the power of water-torrents meeting lava would be available to harness. Superheated steam could burn and cut. Steam could also propel.

The old fortress had become an after-thought. Morgoth, returning, had praised Mairon for work well done, adding only the triple peaks of Thangorodrim. Down here, they were no longer visible. Somewhere up in haze, three mountains rose to ten kilometers of height.

Mairon, personally, would have preferred if Morgoth had not added the peaks. They couldn't be reinforced. And the secret that nobody knew, was of course... that Mairon would have preferred if his lord had stayed in Valinor.

Unfortunately for Beren, he had to play the person who had created this place. He could not act surprised at anything. He was supposed to know which way every door opened, and who had the key.

That was a lot.

Even with the appearance that Luthien was giving him, an appearance that granted immunity, he had none of the knowledge. While she blocked everything from her mind to keep her focus, Beren accepted everything and tried to consider many possibilities on each step.

One thing was clear, though.

/ Take the greatest road forward, and the greatest stairs down. /

Another of those arcs, reinforcing the mouth of a tunnel. This time, the arc was over fifty steps tall. At the center of the downward stairway, steps were as tall as a grown man's chest. At the edges, steps looked normal. Clearly something rather large preferred to walk these steps with convenience. Something with enough authority... to have the steps designed for him. This was the way.

At first the corridor ran straight for half a mile, descending at perhaps ten degrees. Guards were posted at regular intervals, torches and braziers burnt near them. Seeing Luthien and Beren approach, most of them straightened and those who sat rose, securing proper hold of their weapons. He observed and didn't greet them. It would be unlikely for a high-standing officer in Morgoth's army to greet mere orcs first, unless he wanted something.

A crossroad was approaching.

He let the stone produce a tiny bit of more light, and quickly scanned the surroundings. Left or right? Right or left? He felt Luthien's hand touch his, and even her touch had steel claws. They didn't hurt, though. She gently tugged towards left and he understood. The glow of balrogs came from there, while the right corridor was dim and empty.

In additon to numerous side doors, three great doors ended the corridor. At each stood a balrog with a spear of fire. To see those great creatures stand at attention like an ordinary guard, was unnerving. Yet they stood. And they stood fifteen times taller.

If they did't issue a challenge, now was the time to start talking.

"You haven't made an appointment, high smith. Also, are you fully aware that mortals aren't allowed?"

"She's not a mortal by my count. I come to bring something lord Melkor wanted, and likewise urgent warnings concerning Nargothrond. Two other matters I have in addition - one is personal for me and her, the other for our lord."

"Wait here - we'll see if he will hear you."  
"No problem, but I advise you emphasize the urgency."

One of the balrogs entered, and from a great hall behind the door, another stepped out to replace him.

Minutes passed.

Boredom and inaction was the enemy of illusions. Luthien could feel the balrogs' curiosity assaulting her defenses. Thus she decided to speak.

"What if he'll reject our request?"  
"He will not, trust me."

"I trust you in most matters, but should we not at least have a backup plan?"  
"I guarantee that we won't be tossed out like beggars. If he opposes, argue your case and offer to show him your skills. I will assist you."

"Perhaps he might take offense."  
"We'll explain everything in advance and ask for permission to demonstrate it. He doesn't catch fire as easily as they tell."

"I certainly hope so. Many a king would frown upon a challenge issued before their throne, even in good spirit, even to show one's worth."

"Yet no better way exists to prove your worth... perhaps in fact you should prove it anyway. I wish to find you bigger challenges than flying messages about. You managed well eighty years back. You are fit to command. You may be far more fragile, but your spatial skills probably exceed those guys here. Weather permitting, you can have a first-hand view of a battlefield, and your bats can fend off foul creatures that might challenge you in air."

It had worked. The balrogs had become attentive again, reading into the conversation between its lines. One frowned upon the reference to poor spatial skills. This mortal woman was being considered for command, was she not?

Luthien felt the pressure ease, but then the door burst open and the balrog who had opened it thundered:

"Enter, Mairon, and present your case."  
"I will most definitely not enter, without Thuringwethil at my side," he raised his voice and the illusion helped raise it further.

"Do not bicker, guard. I understood he brought a guest. Let them come," was heard from inside.

The balrog instantly stepped aside.


	23. Audience

The hall was long. The voice they'd heard had come a further five hundred steps away.

Fortunately it was mostly empty.

The amount of persons it could accommodate was great. If Morgoth's court was in full assembly... no, he didn't even want to think about it. This hall was designed to accommodate multiple dragons.

He needed to know a proper greeting, and from which distance to say it... he decided that halfway was logical.

* * *

"Thank you for accepting us, at such short notice, my lord," he said at his loudest calm voice.  
"Thank you for letting me enter, highness, Lord of the Earth," she added.

"I can already see that you've come with a request you doubt me to grant.  
No other way would such courtesy take hold of you."

"You guess correctly, master. Still, our request of blessings is a minor detail of no consequence.

I come to report the destruction of my fort on Sirion. It now stands replaced and ten times stronger on the eastern shore. I come to report of Findarato. That elf is literally dangerous. Sirion listens to his word and the island practically crumbled under our feet. When you worried about Feanaro causing difficulties, your worry was greater than his ability. I've recently come to think that the elves who crossed the ice are a far more dangerous bunch. As for Feanaro, I brought something. Do you still want it?"

"That's a thoughtful gift of you to bring. I could find a way to use it."

They were at a distance of a hundred steps now, and the Silmarils on Morgoth's crown started to outshine Feänor's necklace.  
Luthien slowed, Beren sensed it and stopped.

"That reminds me... do you remember the strange rumours about the Silmarils? Remember the contest Feanaro held to break one, and what was said among the Valar? I remembered it recently, and in my dreams, went looking deep into future. My mind is still clouded with doubt... but I think saw a dangerous accident. It involved the Silmarils acting in a way unforseen. I've developed the belief that these stones aren't passive objects. See for example this one..."

He brought his hand closer to the necklace and it instantly brightened, producing a small flash.

"I emphasize that I did nothing but move my hand closer. It can sense my presence just as easily as it can sense a common mouse. That's not an object, but an agent. It can actively sense the world and make decisions. It follows an internal rule-set, just like we follow our principles. It has prescriptions for its behaviour, a program if you will. How simple or complex, I haven't found out yet, but as long as I don't know its abilities, I would not trust it much. I would like to take a close and thorough look at one of the Silmarils, if you permit."

* * *

"That was cleverly presented, but let's shuffle the priorities back into their natural order. Mere stones get the fourth place, no matter how devious."

"But, master, these are not.."

"Not mere stones, I fully agree. Still, for the most part they're predictable as a rock falling downward. Their effect is definitely not strategic and doesn't grow in the future, do you agree? They might be dangerous indeed, but they aren't getting more dangerous, even if their danger doesn't decrease, am I correct?"

"You are correct, my lord, let's shuffle that priority to the back."

"Now, elves who crossed the ice are indeed a fairly hot issue. There is a long-standing disparity between whom we know to have crossed, whom our spies report upon, and who is confirmed dead. To be blunt, we have countless missing elves, mostly of the "having-crossed-the-ice" variety."

"They might have a nest somewhere."

"You said that before... I've already once allocated you time and resoures to determine if that's so."

"I was unable to. As for Findarato, he operates in plain sight and has grown bold indeed."

"What we see, we can measure our strength against. We definitely should measure Findarato soon, but Thingol worries me more. Let's be precise, Thingol is dangerous of course, but his woman is the true hazard. Is her mind stronger than yours? I can't tell. Is her word stronger than Glaurung's? No way to know! That shroud she has woven across lands and forests, is for us... a whole deck of cards unshown, cards whose suit and rank we cannot guess. Are the missing elves there? Are they elsewhere? What is being plotted in Doriath?"

"I understand. Still, information of Findarato cannot hurt you. I had the chance to gain some."

"That is well and good, but while information of Findarato cannot hurt me, neither can Findarato himself. Melian however might try. Of all the defenses she could have built, a shroud of total privacy is perhaps the easiest to misjudge. Let's put Findarato at the second drawer from the back, shall we?"

"I insist he's a higher priority."

"Compared to what? Compared to you losing your fortress and having to rebuild it? Were you two holding hands on a remote mountaintop perhaps, looking at the sunset?"

"I lost my fortress to Findarato."

"I was not present," added Luthien, "though I nearly lost my life to one of the unaccounted elves. An elf bearing nothing less than Finarfin's sword, by the way."

* * *

"Now this is more like interesting," said Morgoth.

"You convinced me. Tell me about Findarato."

"He's officially declared to all his city that they're gearing up for war. He's looking for allies and mercenaries all over Arda, materials that I would try to acquire if I geared up for war. Seeing him do that worries me. Your average elf-kings aren't the kind to empty their treasury against minerals and metals, or buy wood-ashes, guano and manure."

Finrod had coached him a bit in what investments to disclose if needed.

Beren was grateful for that, as Morgoth's attention seemed to be drawn.

"If he's indeed acquiring all that stuff, we'll have to investigate how he uses it.  
Now however, let's guess what the first priority is for me.  
You came to request my blessings."

"I did."  
"And I did likewise."

Luthien sensed that now was her time to step up her part in the conversation.

"Firstly... I don't get to be grateful all too often... but I'm grateful that you arrived to ask, instead of presenting me a done deal sometime in far future. If I were you, and working in the service of a slightly evil god, I might not have the intestinal fortitude to pull that kind of pranks. Especially if my lover was more-or-less mortal and might get accidentally hurt in the process - by envious balrogs or perhaps indeed, fire-serpents falling over in a fit of laughter."

"The balrogs behaved, and serpents were in their quarters. Together we don't need to worry about accidents."

"Oh they did... but have you considered me? You are... to be blunt... a strategic asset. In a game of chess, you'd be the queen, and yes, that tells something uncomfortable about me. Just like a chess-king limited to small steps in every direction, I have this place to manage, I have the realm to manage... and the burden of being Arda's emperor makes me unavailable and slow. Meanwhile, you are free to act unpredictable and fast. Is that true?"

"I do not contest that there is a difference in opportunities and their price."

"Then surely you can see my viewpoint. My strongest piece on the board, who doesn't happen to be a queen but has all the properties of that piece, announces that he will marry. Then he leaves an impression that lack of my blessings will be a setback to him. Should I stop him, or should I not? He comes here playing so sentimental, as to imply that he wants his union with his chosen ally to be *legitimate*, if not in the eyes of gods, then at least in the eyes of one fallen god. Now please confirm, am I on the right track so far?"

"Your track is right, but I can see it leading you in the wrong direction.  
It's not like we're going to abandon our tasks and suddenly disappear."

"Still, your ability to respond is reduced.  
Your time will suddenly be limited. I'll either have to wring it out  
of your schedule, or steal your time like a thief. Do you contest that?"

"I don't deny. I would indeed reserve a fair - only a fair - amount of time for my private life.  
What you disregard, though, is that I have already done that. We've spent a lot of it already,  
and Thuringwethil has grown in skill with every moment of time we've spent."

"Mairon has been teaching me his own arts, while I've told him what little I knew.  
I've learnt a little of his magic and a lot of his technology, to the point where I could perhaps replace him in some duties."

Morgoth bent down from his throne and almost hovered on top of them.

"Have you?"

Luthien was almost swept off her feet by a casual thought glimpsing into her.

* * *

Fortunately it happened to be so that Feänor's necklace took great offense to Morgoths' presence, blinded everyone and melted its way out of its golden frame.

It dropped on the floor, and the stone floor smoked beneath it.

The six balrogs, three on both sides of the throne, covered their eyes with shields and hands. Beren had fortunately not looked into the blaze, stepped away from the stone and Morgoth drew back too. Seeing Luthien waver, he tried to get his share of attention.

"As you recall, I said that Feanaro's handicraft can be treacherous.  
It apparently doesn't like you and just happily crossed the melting-point of gold."

"He made that one after meeting me. The Silmarils he made while still a good student of Aule."

"I was also a good student of Aule."  
"Point taken."

"So... Thuringwethil, healer turned warrior, mortal turned immortal...  
...would you mind if I perhaps liked to test your skill?"

"I was going to propose it myself. Mairon, if you don't mind me improvising a bit..."

"As long as you don't disguise me as anything unnatural, have your fun."

* * *

With a flash, the illusion dropped.  
Mist swirled around them, but when it dissipated,  
taking the form of a dragon flying off towards the ceiling,  
Luthien was Luthien and Beren was himself.

Morgoth raised what might have been an eyebrow.

"And this is supposed to be what?"

"Greetings, Lord of the Earth.  
I am Luthien Eluchil Tinuviel, from the realm of Doriath,  
and this is my beloved, Beren son of Barahir of the people of Beör."

"That's a good one. Do proceed for a while, before I try to mess with your show a little."

"We come here at the bidding of Elu Thingol, who demands a Silmaril as dowry.  
He says it's a too dangerous jewel for you to hold anyway.  
You might get hurt by its light."

"Are you sure you're not overacting it?", asked Beren in fake criticism.

"Don't tell her off, she's actually quite convincing.  
Do you really have sources beyond the veil of Doriath, or is she weaving a fantasy?  
I know of Luthien and her appearance matches the description, but didn't Barahir's son perish with his father?"

"No, he was away from their camp when we got them.  
He evaded our attempts to track him down and presumably crossed south over the mountains infested with Ungoliant's kids.  
I don't think he'd have escaped if I hadn't been needed elsewhere... or if I could have left Thuringwethil in charge of the operation."

"Always so serious. Role-playing clearly isn't your thing, Mairon."  
"Just ignore me, I'm happy to watch with amusement."

"I know my request is great, Lord of the Earth. Will you accept my services in return?", she demanded to know.  
"What skills have you to offer, in return for Feänor's craft?"

"Unless you have an army for me to lead in battle... perhaps I could sing a song?"  
"Maybe you could, for even I have heard of your achievements in that art."

Thus Luthien started singing, and this was not a song of illusion.

She sang of the great music that started the world, with sentimental notes of times gone by.  
She sang of words in the song getting misunderstood, division arising out of unity.  
She sang of disagreements, fractures and grievances taking hold,  
camps forming, ideology arising that excluded listening to others,  
toiling regardless on the same project, tearing it this way and that.  
Morgoth could recognize an image of himself in the song,  
and an image of his foes. He could understand them too.

She sang of the world being born with a dark destiny of conflict,  
still unknowing of its future, a future that could be altered.  
She sang of growth and learning, the world discovering its strength,  
its first children awakening, naming themselves and creating language.  
Of their advancement she sang. Of learning the ways of nature  
and the laws underlying nature, of doing without magic  
that seemed only possible with magic before. Doing ever more.  
In that, Morgoth recognized Mairon's reflection.

Luthien also sang of chaos working its way, of forgotten things taking on life  
at the world's edges, unseen and shrouded, biding their time.  
The same chaos likewise walked among the first-born,  
but of it came hierarchy instead, tribes and chieftains, realms of kings.  
Languages that elves had crafted came to separate them.  
Dwarves were already set apart.

The song was realistic and captured attention, he had to admit.  
Morgoth broke from following the song for a moment,  
and tested Luthien's ability to maintain her illusion.

He was surprised.  
Her illusion was solid.  
Had she truly changed form like Mairon?  
How could her false form even think like that elf, Luthien?

He wanted to look deeper into her thoughts,  
but was distracted by the beauty of her form.  
She hid from his sight, though, dancing behind columns  
yet continuing her song.

Luthien was not even distracted by his venture, though,  
and if he pursued her thoughts, the song was stronger compared to her voice.

It told of a world like a clockwork ticking down a pre-destined path,  
of everyone being actors in their role.  
Some rebelled, but their rebellion was destined to occur,  
others tried to discover and follow rules,  
but ended up creating tragic or comical roles to fill.

Some saw the irony in the whole business and laughed,  
while others saw the hypocrisy and laughed for other reasons,  
while yet others despaired at the same things,  
and sought not to repeat them soon.  
Eventually they would, though.

There was a force that had direction though,  
a force that held true to its purpose.  
Time didn't relent and entropy always worked the same way.  
She sang of that, of forces greater than gods,  
producing eventual outcomes no matter what occurred.

Some would oppose these forces, others made a grudging peace with them,  
some embraced them eagerly and some were consumed by that.  
Everything became less. The elder children erred. The world's newer children  
weren't the strength of those who walked before,  
yet they were more unique. Out of their infinite mix,  
sometimes really bright sparks would rise. And fall again.

She sang of it really not mattering in the end,  
of the comfort of not worrying about the outcome.  
She sang of sleep and weariness, silence and light dimming,  
bright fire slowing to a warming glow, swords dulling  
and iron turning back to rust, stone to dust.  
Of Earth cooling and the void warming.

At the end, her song was really simple. After all the philosophy was exhausted, it could have been replaced with a calming lullaby.

It induced sleep.

Thus it happened that the dark lord fell asleep, as he'd never before in the long ages.  
He stumbled down among the slumped balrogs, his crown rolling from his head on its side.  
Beren was not spared from the song, and also lay on the floor.


	24. Jaws of thirst

"Hush! Wake up. It's me."

He opened one eye. After the tour of history and future that her song had presented, it had turned so comfortable and calming that he almost wanted to sleep on. Still, reality somehow dawned when he noticed there was a smoldering balrog snoring loudly on the floor, ten steps away from him.

"You... you made everyone fall asleep?"  
"I don't know for how long. We should waste no time."

He started work. The jewels were fixed in the iron crown by means of metal spikes hammered down on top of them from multiple sides, like thin steel fingers grabbing them. Using the pick-axe like a crowbar, he started plying them loose. Those that he couldn't get the axe-tip underneath, she weakened with the burglar saw until he could.

Three of them were of a different kind of metal, however. It wasn't iron or steel. It was so flexible yet very hard on surface. The burglar saw that cut most things, didn't cut the slightest. The metal claws always bent back when he released the pick-axe. Worse, they did that with a springy sound of "clang".

"What a nuisance of material!"  
"I thought the crown was made of iron as its name said."

"They're not even decorative. They look the same."  
"Let's put the axe-tip under the Silmaril and hammer a little."  
"Hammering might wake them."

She held soft cloth on the back of the axe while he hammered it. The blows were muffled, and the axe sunk beneath the jewel. Beren twisted the axe to gain more leverage and finally pulled it with full force. The flexible claws yielded little by little...

...and with a splat, the Silmaril flew out of its cage and hit Morgoth on the head, bouncing further.

They stood as frozen for a moment, holding breath.  
Morgoth mumbled something in sleep and snored on.

She ran to fetch the Silmaril while he picked up Feänor's stone and tucked it away in thick cloth.

The door.

"How do we even move it?"

The door was balrog-operated and thirty steps high... even the handle was so high that...

"This cannot be! Mairon often walks here, and he doesn't exaggerate his form. He wouldn't build what inconveniences himself."  
"He can probably not just open it with words, but shatter it too the same way."  
"Sometimes he might want to open it without magic."  
"Perhaps."  
"A side passage maybe?"  
"He's too proud to take a side passage."  
"Are you sure? How can you know?"  
"I just know. Maybe you did a too good job at casting me as him."

Fortunately they had light. Lots of it, and they found a lever-handle carefully blended into the door's design.

"What if it locks instead?"  
"Unlikely," she said. "I have seen similar mechanisms."

He pulled and the great door silently came open by a few inches. She immediately looked through it.

"They're sleeping."

He let the lever back and pulled again. Another few inches. "It's a blessing this one doesn't have creaky hinges."  
He pulled it three times and the door was open by a foot. They got through.  
They ran upwards along the stairs, slowing when approaching orcs.

"Sleeping."

"How is that possible? I didn't know you had such power in your words."  
"I haven't. I tricked Morgoth to think along. When he started humming the elvish lullaby, I almost fell asleep myself."

Angband was strange when everything was quiet. However, quiet didn't last. With a rumble of thunder and a bang, something exploded far away. An industrial process left without anyone to control it had ran astray. Angband was starting to stir.

"To the wolf-gate. Right! Over there!"

The wolf-gate had no lock, for wolves weren't into carrying keys. Together they could lift its bar open, push it ajar and slip through. That's when Carcharoth stood up and faced them. The extent of his opened jaws was about the height of Luthien.

"A pick-axe is no weapon here."  
"I remember where I threw my dagger. A hundred steps to the left."

She lifted the Silmaril high in her left hand and stepped sideways. Carcharoth hesitated. He unrolled the cloth surrounding Feänor's stone and held it with the same cloth, which started fuming from the heat.

Used to the white shine of his master's crown, Carcharoth hadn't known what to do at first. This new light was hurtful and offending, though. He rushed at Beren and grabbed the bundle of cloth, holding him by his hand and shaking him back and forth.

The pick-axe fell. Luthien dropped the Silmaril and seized the axe, striking a fast and heavy blow while Carcharoth tried to rip Beren's hand off. The axe sunk into the wolf's side by its whole length, and got stuck between its ribs.

Carcharoth let Beren drop and turned at Luthien, who instantly ran for the dagger. The wolf ran after him, and on the halfway, collided with Huan, who'd come running across the plain.  
Huan was small compared to him, but regardless went on attack. His jaws wouldn't suffice to grab the wolf's throat, but he took hold of his hind leg, forcing him to stop.

Luthien reached the dagger, seized it from ground and turned.

Huan and Carcharoth were tumbling on the ground fighting, while Beren lay unconscious near the wolf-gate. She hesitated for a moment and joined the fight, striking many times at the wolf's exposed side. The fur that had yielded before the axe deflected her dagger-strikes.

She retreated and threw the dagger, aiming at Carcharoth's eye, but it missed and flew away into darkness. So fast was the motion of the fighting animals that even elvish skill didn't help.

The axe was however still embedded in Carcharoth's side, and that's what Luthien grabbed hold of. Feeling his lung nearing puncture, Carcharoth released a weary Huan and turned to fight Luthien. A vigorous shake sent her flying off again, together with the axe.

He leapt at her, while Huan rose and leapt at him again. They collided, tumbled and Carcharoth seized hold of Huan's neck. Luthien however managed to strike another axe-blow, this time into the great wolf's shoulder. Again the axe got stuck, again he dropped Huan...

...and winced with pain from inside.

The stone he'd swallowed had come loose from the roll of cloth.

With the energy of a an elf-smith's forge released inside him, Carcharoth could stumble ten more steps, which Luthien outran. Then the wolf fell in spasms and started breathing out foul-smelling steam and smoke.

Huan tried to rise where he'd been thrown aside, but no longer could. He was bleeding dry.

"Goodbye, Luthien.  
Don't try fixing me.  
See to Beren and escape."

She pressed her hand against Huan's wounds, but couldn't close them.  
Blood kept coming out in gushes.

"I'm sorry I got you into this affair. Please don't die."

"I can't fulfill this wish.  
I feel it approaching already.  
Is there anything I should tell Namo?"

"Tell thim they should intervene. Tell him I'm sorry for starting this."  
"Live well."

She released the wound and Huan started to lose consciousness immediately.  
She ran to Beren and saw the horrible mess that was his left palm,  
dangling from his hand, almost bit off.

With her pocket-knife she cut the rest of the way through, amputating his palm.  
With great speed she bound the wound shut, instinctively throwing the content of the bottle of coagulant beneath the bandages.

She put the Silmaril in her pocket, lifted him and walked... as fast as she could, while all hell started breaking loose in Angband.


	25. Homecoming

Mairon glided down from clouds and landed on the plain. Things were not normal. Angband was... malfunctioning.

He'd have a strong word with the _idiot_ whom Melkor had put in charge.

A group of balrogs were standing before the gate. Near them was smoking a carcass of a wolf... a wolf so large that Dragluin seemed small.

/ Ho, brothers, what's wrong with the fortress? /, he cast his thought at them.

They looked at him like he was an apparition.  
Mairon reflexively checked his appearance.  
No, he was not an apparition.

The balrogs started running towards him, all of them.

/ What's the meaning of this? /, he cast a thought, still outside hearing range.

He wouldn't mind a great big fiery hug, but balrogs weren't known for hugging.  
In fact, now they started drawing swords and pulling out whips.  
As they entered hearing range, Mairon became somewhat concerned.

"I asked you what the fuck is going on!"

They didn't answer, but ran directly towards him. With a flash and clap he turned into a ball lightning, jumping off ground to the height of their faces. They surrounded him and looked ready to land strikes, but he started producing electrical arcs which ran through their weapons.

"BACK OFF! ANSWER MY QUESTION!"

Faced with an order of the strongest flavour he could produce, backed by implied threats of the most severe variety, the balrogs got... worried.

"We must arrest you!"  
"What!?"  
"Order from Melkor. Surrender yourself!"  
"Fuck off!"

The balrog who'd tried to wrap his whip around him danced from one foot to another while his whip disintegrated in blinding flame.

"Don't attempt again! Someone could die!"  
"Gothmog, call the"

Optimists. As if serpents could be called that easily. Mairon moved first, dashing to an altitude of a hundred steps while the smaller fireball he'd left behind exploded. The fire-demons stumbled backwards from the blast and might have indeed seen serpents for a minute. During that time, Mairon collected their weapons, utterly burnt the whips and said words in anger that melted swords off handles. The chains he broke to pieces and merged into a pile of fused rubbish along with shackles.

"Oh Mairon, how can we then fulfill our master's will?"

"If he is my master, he must explain this to me. I come with you, but better keep a healthy distance."

* * *

"Idiots! I told to bring him in chains!"

Flash. Bang.

"Cut the crap, Melkor! What is happening? Gothmog tries to assault me, orcs run like headless chicken! Serpents are breaking bridges in the yard, trolls play with shit and stones! The furnaces are cold, the explosives factory is a mere hole in ground! Did you permit this? Did you cause this? Where is Glaurung? Where is Boldog? What cooked that wolf before the gate? What has happened to your crown?"

A faint globe of blue with a blinding core hovered mere steps from Melkor's face. The blue wasn't Mairon's light, but the product of his light colliding with air. The blinding white was a byproduct too. The light he truly gave off was invisible but Melkor saw it and understood his anger. It went through balrogs, it went through Melkor, it went through Angband and crossed Arda too. With the proper tools, it might have been noticed in Valinor if someone bothered to observe. It was the light of a new era trying to outshine the old.

Balrogs observed that a metallic taste had appeared out of nowhere. They didn't like this trick and backed further away just in case.

Mairon considered, floated back and downwards... landed and turned into a transparent wraith of himself, preferring to be immaterial rather than get smited by surprise.

"The fact that you issued an order to arrest me, implies that you held me responsible for events. Since I cannot be responsible for what I haven't caused, someone must have left the impression that I caused things."

"Your identity was stolen, which is forgiveable, but some of your knowledge seems to have accompanied it."  
"What?! Who?"

"I think you know Luthien and Beren."  
"I know them, I even read his mind. He tried sneaking past Tol Sirion."

"Perhaps you wrote some too, and she read it back out of him?"  
"Absolutely not. I did not alter anything. I had my hands full of Finrod. He sings, you know."

"I know. Luthien sings too. So the thing about Finrod is true?"  
"The island is gone, and I had to replace my tower. Didn't Thuringwethil arrive weeks ago?"

"Luthien came with the appearance of a Thuringwethil stabbed in her neck, and spoke of an elf of Aman almost killing her."  
"So she's dead, I guess... I should try to find her, though..."

"A vain search that wastes time. If she's alive, she'll return, if she's dead, you cannot call her back. You, Mairon, will earn your keep by restoring order to this place, and I will watch your every step!"

"Then who will search for Luthien and Beren, who will finish them off?"

"They've payed a downpayment for their show already. He has one hand less. Let them taste the cost of victory for a while in Thingol's kingdom. If they plow the field and do the farming for us, why should we bring out hoes and pour our sweat?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Silmaril, Mairon, it will go to Thingol and Feänor's sons will know."  
"So what?"

"You know Feänor's sons, do you not?"  
"You hope they wage war."  
"I do."  
"They won't. Thingol will negotiate or wipe the floor with them. Melian certainly will."

"I see a path to make things otherwise. First we organize ourselves and grant them a little time. Then Boldog will pay a visit and fetch Luthien back. I want to have a word with her after things have cooled a bit."  
"They'll wipe the floor with Boldog, nothing more."

"I've already sent him reinforcements, and will send more. Boldog is a clever bastard and all of Dorthonion will empty into Doriath."  
"Send Glaurung. Let Boldog be second in command. Boldog will fold if Melian starts messing with his mind."

"Boldog is forewarned about Melian. His team of lieutenants is large. They are all experienced commanders. If Boldog falls, they continue. Glaurung is needed elsewhere. He will take an army to Nargothrond and smoke out Finrod."

"The goal is commendable, but Finrod isn't a rat to be smoked out. You know what became of your smoking out the dwarves. They went deeper and shut the doors behind them. Generations of them lived and died and eventually outwaited you. Elves won't even need to die. Finrod will be playing cards and whistling to cave-birds while Glaurung rummages through rock. Divert Glaurung to Doriath. Let me go to Nargothrond."

"No. You shall reorganize Angband. Seeing you do it will restore morale and confidence. You will also get a chance to answer questions. Lots of them, to a lot of people, regarding what just passed. That light..."

"If you insist, but that light is nobody's business. It's not the secret fire you seek. Some day, it will move earth and heavens, though."

"So be it, then. It was a useful light. I could see things I normally don't."

* * *

"It hurts. What happened to me?"

Beren had returned to consciousness.

With her shoulder in terrible pain, Luthien was doubting her ability to carry him up the hill. She knew they must reach there, however. He was cold, gasping for air and his heart rate was entirely wrong.

"Hold onto me with your left hand. I must somehow carry you, but my own right hand is failing. You lost your entire palm and probably two liters of blood. If we don't get to our supplies, there is great risk that your body will go into shock from the blood loss. That can destroy even a healthy person very fast. I couldn't help you in time. The wolf came after me and needed dealing with. Huan saved us, but died. Don't move your hand. Keep it at least as high as your head, or blood will break out again. And don't pass out again, please. But don't talk either, you need to breathe slower and deeply."

"How did you kill the wolf?"

"I didn't and couldn't. Huan wounded him a little, I wounded him somewhat, but Feänor's stone stopped him. He swallowed it while trying to rip your hand off, and finally... too late... it came to contact and ignited fully. A horrible way to die, but Carcharoth probably got his deserved share."

They reached the hilltop. She felt sweat flowing like rivers, but rest was not to be had. She propped Beren's feet and his broken hand up higher, as no vital organs were located there and his body needed what little blood it had. She covered him with both of their blankets, mixed salts with water and gave it for him to drink.

"I wish I could somehow replace your lost blood, but I cannot. Your body will need all the liquid it can take in."

She listened to his pulse, checked if his skin was warming, smelled his breath and finally decided to ask.

"I need to see inside you. Will you help me? Will you let me?"

"Of course, if I only can."

She instructed of which to think and brought her mind into contact with his. Reading signals that he couldn't read, she dived into processes in his body, altering dopamine production, wringing more epinephrine out of exhausted glands, counteracting the acidic byproducts of anaerobic energy production. She didn't know properly what she was doing, but had seen Melian help wounded soldiers who would have died in hours under normal elvish care. She tried doing the same and something came of it, but not enough.

"Thank you. I can breathe easier."

"I tried adjusting you to use energy and air more efficiently. You will later have a terrible head-ache, though. Actually, Beren... given our plight of needing to gain distance from Angband, I would like to do something rather radical to help you."

"Tell me. I'm open to suggestions."

"I would like to cause you to walk in your sleep. In a wakeful state, a person's brain runs hungry, consuming a great deal of energy. It's possible to sleep or slumber while walking. Humans do it rarely, often unwillingly, with odd and dangerous results. Elves simply do it if they want. I will hold your hand and guide you, if you let me."

"Let me try walking the ordinary way first, but if that fails, let's do it."

She discarded most of their wares, took one backpack and he tried walking with her support. Dizzyness and palpitation overtook him by the first minute. If Luthien hadn't held him, he'd have fallen. He sat down and she aided with entering the sleep-state elves used to conserve most energy. With her constant support, he could stay in that state and walk. "Cripple leading blind, that's what we are", she thought, "better than dead, though."


	26. Parting

Finrod scrolled through the seismograph rolls. Then he scrolled back, and started going forward carefully, making notes on paper.

His weekly recordings showed things he'd not expected, and he'd run a seismograph for many centuries.

In particular, yesterday's night stuck out like a sore thumb. Earthquakes didn't occur in pulses like that. Their form was entirely different. He suspected dragons, but dragons didn't, dragons couldn't... or maybe they could, if bigger ones had appeared than Glaurung.

Dragons were slow, however, while this was... Finrod didn't really know what this was. The tremors from the beginning of the week could plausibly be Mairon building something large. The event from yesterday night... he wanted to know. In his long years, Finrod had recorded many earthquakes. Angband rising out of earth had been a superb reference point. In the process of watching Mairon work, earth was Finrod's spy.

* * *

He had other spies, but too few in number. Mairon's bats were constantly hunting them down and the toll was heavy. When Finrod told what consequences helping him could mean, many a bird refused now, and he well understood them. He strove to offer them more guarantees, but nothing could really protect against Mairon... few took the risk of helping. Some however took the risk of spite now - to defy Mairon, who had already cost them dearly.

He went to his office and asked which message-birds were staying overnight. A crow would fly to Talath Dirnen tomorrow, telling to report daily and increase caution. Finrod wished he'd have a bird-line to Ered Wethrin, but dwarves of Wethrin hadn't agreed.

Having talked yesterday with Glorfindel and Ruinis, Finrod suspected that Luthien and Beren had reached their destination, whatever their destination would be.

He also ordered some mirrors on the mountain to be repositioned. If they matched an old agreement, someone should notice and remember.

* * *

Glorfindel stared at the moon, as the shiny vessel slowly sailed through night skies. He'd been to Nargothrond many times before, but the city always made him a bit claustrophobic. Thus he asked again if it was sensible to stay the night outside, and Finrod's guards again assured that nobody would mind.

Hearing that he preferred open skies, Ruinis also abandoned the room offered to her by Finrod and joined Glorfindel on the mountaintop. She liked the city, but sleeping underground felt a bit oppressive.

They had talked of their travels, for both had traveled a lot. Ruinis wanted to know of the sea and things beyond it. Glorfindel sensed he would soon lose who'd become a friend during their travel downstream, but told the stories anyway, for telling them was a good passtime. Perhaps he'd not lose this friend forever, however. Stories of the sea intrigued her, but descriptions of Valinor didn't seem to impress her much.

Ruinis told of history, of ancient events involving the Avari, Sindar and Nandor, some of them were happy, some tragic, some simply memorable. For each year, she knew at least its most important event, naming the year by that, in addition to its number. Some years, especially the sorrowful ones, held long stories however. The years were many and Ruinis didn't tell all.

He asked why the Avari didn't write if they could calculate. She said that some probably did, but in the ways of the Nandor, who had borrowed their Cirth from the Sindar, who might have borrowed it from Dwarves, though some insisted Dwarves had borrowed it from them (stomping of feet and fists on tables might ensue if these opposing viewpoints entered discussion in the same room). Writing however wasn't an important part of Avari culture, as they didn't establish kingdoms, didn't venture into big commerce and passed on their history in songs and stories. Nearly all of them had perfect memory like him.

Glorfindel found it strange that she could solve distance problems that were hard, but went puzzled at Nargothrond's signs. He'd offered a crash course into Tengwar, believing that Ruinis would learn fast. Knowing the difference between "cheap and good", "toilet", "shop is closed" and "do not enter in the name of the king's guard" would be practical and helpful.

She did learn fast, but admitted she was cheating, however. Memorizing the looks of a sentence wasn't the same as understanding Tengwar properly. She was already decoding the simpler words, though.

The questions she had asked of Finrod were sobering.

"Can you see the future? Does this world have a future? Does the enemy also prepare for war like you?"

Finrod had admitted that he saw a little, didn't see very far. He simply believed that Arda had a future. Keeping that future required fighting. Nargothrond however might be doomed.

"Sometimes I have dreams which make me conclude... that nothing will remain of Nargothrond. I could buy some years, perhaps at great cost I could even buy a century... but in honesty I fear that things will get worse soon."

* * *

"When will you be going?", he asked.  
"How about you?", she asked in return.

"Given Finrod's talk of urgent danger, I think I must reach my king soon."  
"Would you show your city to me?"

"I would, but my king wouldn't have it. We maintain a strict regime of secrecy. None who enter are allowed to leave without the king's word. Since Turgon trusts me intimately and I'm tasked by Finarfin with advising some people... though Finrod is a grown man now and I feel I would sometimes benefit from his advise instead... for that reason I'm one of the few who come and go. Turgon considers Finarfin's word to stand above his laws."

"But Finarfin himself didn't come."

"When stopping us failed, it was sensible of him to hand his sword to me and instruct to look after the 'kids'. Finrod alone would have had enormous difficulty, and the rest were too young by elvish standards to go fighting in a distant land. Our entire bunch were the fools to leave... and sometimes I think he should have tried harder to stop us. The world wouldn't be the same, however, if Finrod, Galadriel, Orodreth, Angrod and Aegnor hadn't come. If you wanted to visit a strange place, I would recommend Doriath. I've visited Galadriel who lives there with her chosen, Celeborn. Every time I go, her powers have grown a bit. I think she learns from Melian herself."

"I've been to Doriath before Melian wove her veil. It's beautiful. I don't think much has changed there."

* * *

He said he'd have one more consultation with Finrod tomorrow and leave the next evening.

She said she'd go down Narog at the same time then, so she could wish goodbye.

The talk with Finrod involved Glorfindel agreeing to haul quite a bit of cargo and memorizing more instructions than he felt comfortable with... but Finrod offered his finest horse to give him speed and stealth, and the plan was entirely sound. Either Pengolodh or someone else among the star-gazers and lore-keepers would have a new task soon. Or perhaps mountain guards would have it, if Turgon's highest tower proved too low.

Ruinis wanted to hug him, and he was happy to share a hug, despite already wearing armor. Her cheek was soft and comforting to touch.

What she asked next was a bit unsettling, though.

"Can I kiss you on your cheek without it meaning too much, without it implying a lot, as I know it implies among your people?"

He thought about it.

"I see no reason why you couldn't."

Her second hug was even warmer and the kiss was sweet.

He didn't kiss back, though. Despite affection tugging at his soul, he wanted this to remain a friendship. Future was uncertain and how many years were granted to Glorfindel on earth, was not quite sure. Jobs required doing and he'd make a miserable lover. She was likable, but they were different. The Avari didn't make a big deal about having one love only. Being inhabitants of Middle Earth, they'd suffered great losses in their early history which shaped their customs. The Noldor viewed things differently. Thus he smiled and thanked her with the warmest words he found, and they both wished they'd meet again some day.


	27. Chance encounters

"What do you think, Thorondor?"

They descended fully out of the clouds and saw two people. The human man was resting under blankets, while the elf-woman was waving a bright source of light. How could she have noticed them?

"It seems clear they need assistance."  
"Let's descend."

"Are my eyes right, or is she waving a..."  
"I would bet that she's waving a Silmaril."  
"Let's not get so excited yet."  
"Either way, good timing on part of Finrod."

"If that was truly timing, he has ways of getting word faster than we fly."  
"Dwarves and more mirrors, perhaps?"  
"Perhaps, but have you seen any dwarves around here?"  
"Nope."

The eagles stopped discussing why Finrod had focused half a mountainside of mirrors high in the direction of Angband, but the meaning of the signal was pre-agreed: if Nargothrond started reflecting large amounts of sunshine pointlessly back into air, instead of channeling it down into the mountain, then one should check the direction where it lead. If it reflected low, one should check close, if it reflected high, one should check far.

One of them did a circle out of caution, while two came in directly.

With a storm they stopped themselves and came to see.

"Hello, eagles. Thank you for coming to see us."  
"Thank you for calling us down. The fog is so thick what we almost missed you."

"Our luck has been terrible lately. My beloved lost the palm of his hand to a great wolf. He's able to walk very little, and I fear the wound is infected with something from the wolf's mouth."

"Where are you going?"

"We come from Angband and we need to make it to Doriath. I'm Luthien, he's Beren... and this stone... is proof of our wishes being serious. It's meant for Thingol."

"I take that Morgoth didn't throw that stone your way?"

"No, of course not. We took it by deceit. I tried singing Morgoth to sleep, and suddenly he started humming along, at which point all of Angband fell asleep, himself included, and we stole the Silmaril. A great wolf had come from somewhere to outside the gates, however. When we exited, he attacked."

"Would you appreciate our help perhaps? I think we could carry both of you to Doriath. It's a long flight, but there is three of us. One can carry you while the other two take turns to carry Beren."

"I would greatly appreciate that, and be forever thankful. Walking here wounded and tired, we run a great risk of being seen, killed or captured. Also, Beren's condition is not improving, and might worsen."

"Let us get going soon, then."  
"Yes, let me wake him up and explain."

She woke him carefully and explained the situation. He agreed that risking the cold and thin air was a much smaller issue than risking orc-hosts, mountains, a stubborn fever and symptoms of infection, and taking a foot-trip of many hundreds of miles.

She quickly arranged and tied the blankets in such a way that an eagle could carry Beren without him needing to hold on. They would still provide him a little warmth, and the climbing-rope reinforced them so he couldn't drop. When Thorondor had taken flight with Beren, she climbed on the back of a second eagle and they followed.

Luthien had warned them about Beren's blood loss, and they flew low.

This meant however that they flew along the valley of Sirion, and likewise along the pass of Sirion.

She spoke to the eagle carrying her and pleaded them to be cautious.  
She really hoped that Mairon wasn't there, or things could get incredibly ugly.  
The eagle approached Thorondor and spoke her message.  
They altered course.

"We'll take a really limited shortcut over mountains, won't be long," the great eagle explained through the deafening whine of wind.

"I wouldn't fear Mairon if it was the three of us. We'd scatter and dive, going fast and low. Mairon can fly terribly fast, but he goes straight and keeps to higher altitude. Skimming treetops clearly isn't a thing he bothers. When he does that he's clumsy and I've personally made him go through a pine. Made a bang and dropped from my tail. With you in our care, we cannot however risk things of that sort. And teasing him isn't my hobby either. Perhaps he had an unlucky day or I had a lucky one."

They diverted their path left, heading south instead of south-west.

Air got thin and cold, but Luthien trusted that Beren had rested properly.  
Without expending physical effort, his body would outlast the temporary change in air.

She tried to see if Brithiach was already on horizon, but that wasn't so. Instead, from an opening between clouds, Luthien thought she saw the glimmer of a city. Then clouds closed behind. When they opened again, only a green valley was visible.

"Strange," she thought, and even looked back over her shoulder, but the sight did not repeat. Perhaps she'd imagined a city.

* * *

Glorfindel left the horse in care of Doriathrin watchmen and explained he'd return in a month. He said he'd appreciate if they took good care of the animal, who'd then help them in their duties greatly.

They thanked and wondered about the trading elf with a backpack and two great bags at his sides, going up into mountains without even armor, though he carried an impressive sword and a long hooked stick.

"How many times have you seen him?", asked Galathil.  
"I've seen him three times," Elboron replied.

"I have also. Will you tell me when you saw him, so we can figure out if he's been here thrice or more?"

The border-guards started matching up their recollections, while Glorfindel, having observed the curiosity of this pair before parting from their company, had already decided that he'd make only one more appearance here. He'd fetch the horse later and take it back to Finrod.

"I'd say he trades with dwarves."  
"Given that spiders don't live this way, and wouldn't like to trade, I'd say the same."

"Maybe someone's squatting in the mountains, though. Perhaps the Avari. So rarely do they announce their coming and going. Do you know the smith of Nan Elmoth, by the way?"

"I know of that guy. Not of the Avari if you ask me, more like a Noldo left behind. He doesn't roam. And I think he thinks it's us who squat his land instead, won't pay nicely for swords and weave walls of mist across his back-yard. However, I also think he's a bit more grumpy than reality calls for. And his work is excellent. I once saw Beleg's sword. I haven't got words to explain it."

"You don't need to. Eöl's among the few who can sell manufactured goods to dwarves. He and now perhaps this guy. You generally don't take metalwork to dwarves, and that chap definitely had his packs full of something heavy. Surely you also noticed how he lifted them."

"I think he handled them with great care. If I had my sacks full of steel, I'd happily let them bump into corners. I'd place my bets on something else. Maybe even glassware."

"Ai, your guess is probably better than mine. Dwarves can blow their glass, though."

"Yep, you entice those with food and delicious wine, ore and precious stones. Maybe he was carrying wine-bottles? It's dwarves who sell you manufactured goods. Except a longsword which they cannot balance right, or a good bow which must last centuries."

"True enough. They guy said he'd come from Nargothrond, however. They make things there which we rarely see, besides the sweet wine. Perhaps they make something in Finrod's realm that even dwarves can't do without?"

"Maybe. Fragrance soap and birch-woood sauna whisks, perhaps. Just kidding. I know their skill."  
"Or maybe he's not telling all he could."

"Yeah. Maybe he lives up there."

They laughed and moved on with their daily observation tour.


	28. Home at last

The messenger came at such speed that the guards considered if they had authority to stop him. Clearly something was on fire or enemies attacking.

"I come", he gasped for air, "on behalf of captain Beleg. I must see Thingol at once."

They knew him and didn't invoke the formalities.

"Go. Your coat is ripped, though."

* * *

Thingol rose and walked to meet him.

"Apologies, highness, for rushing to your halls breathless. Three great eagles landed on the bridge over Esgalduin. They came bearing Luthien and Beren. He is barely alive."

"But she?"

"She's well, but very worried about his and our future. She took a Silmaril from Morgoth. His hand was ripped off by a werewolf."  
"Send horsemen and a wagon to fetch them," Thingol said to the messenger. "Chancellor, dispatch a messenger for healers. I will find Melian."

"They already got a wagon. It should be here in fifteen minutes."

He dismissed the messenger, who bowed and ran. The chancellor hurried off while Thingol made good pace to Melian's favourite garden, his bodyguards in tow. She wasn't there and he sent two to find her.

* * *

Going to meet the wagon, he met Luthien already walking towards the healer's halls, carrying Beren.

"Let them carry him, surely you are tired."  
"Thank you, I am."

One of Thingol's guards stretched out his hands and accepted Beren from Luthien's arms.

"I'm sorry for ignoring your command, father, but I had reasons. I overestimated myself, yet I also underestimated myself, and of course, your command was unjust."

She'd never been one to beat around the bush, Thingol knew.

"I have realized it wasn't fair. I have felt fresh love, back a long time ago, and it doesn't bend to opinions of parents, kings and kin. I've come to regret issuing my command. I heard you got the Silmaril. Are we officially at war with Angband, instead of how it's been before?"

"I don't know. We saw an army march south already before we entered Angband. Finrod prepares for war."

"Finrod has let me know. I didn't allow his envoys into Doriath to recruit, but sent a wagon train of materials he wanted. He wants strange things indeed. What he does with the excrement is the greatest puzzle for me."

"He makes blasting fire from it, no doubt. I stopped in Nargothrond on our way to Angband. Beren tried without me first, together with Finrod and a small company of guards. The lord of Tol Sirion stopped them and almost took them captive, but Finrod sang to the river and the island started falling apart. Before that however, Mairon utterly pillaged Beren's mind for information. They escaped downstream and after resting, we tried again with Beren. We met one of Turgon's men and he helped us. We met a werewolf who turned out to be one of the Avari and she could change form, but guess who had trapped her in the wolf form... we freed her and she gave us a host of information about Mairon. We met dwarves and they helped us travel undetected, but I cannnot tell you how, for I swore to keep their secret. In the end, I disguised Beren as Mairon and myself I cast as his vampire messenger named Thuringwethil. We walked in like good confidence artists are supposed to. It all went wrong when we walked back out, though."

"I will have questions about Finrod's ways and their implications later, can you help me with them?"  
"I'll do my best to answer. Do you want the Silmaril now or later?"  
"Let's get over with it, so we can put that behind us."

"You must return it to Feänor's sons though, please remember."  
"I can't see how they deserve it."

"I cannot emphasize this enough. That stone is accursed. Let it not linger long in your hands. It's been in the iron crown."  
"A good point. I'll probably negotiate a little before I yield it up."

Melian was already in the infirmary and healers were ready.

"Did you know in advance, beloved?," asked Thingol.  
"I felt the eagles cross our borders, and I guessed their business soon," Melian replied.

Luthien summarized what had befallen to Beren, what she'd attempted to do, and how they'd returned to Doriath.  
"When we landed, he didn't awaken any more. I fear the mountain air has worsened his condition greatly."

Healers and Melian immediately examined Beren.

"I'll awaken him, for he needs to drink. We may have to amputate more of his hand, however. See these tissues," she pointed. "They stretch a good deal upward from the wound, and they're a conduit for its spread."

"It won't be long until it takes hold elsewhere in his body, we need to mix the most potent antiseptic ointment," a healer noted. "His kidneys's are probably heavily strained, you should support their function."

"Please wait with amputation at least until tomorrow, please try medicines first," asked Luthien.

"I agree. Morning is a bad time to operate, humans have a strict rhythm that their bodies follow. The same deed at the wrong time can bring needless harm. If we can't stop it by tomorrow noon, tomorrow afternoon is the time to operate," deemed Melian.

They started working on him. The wound was flushed with crystals dissolved in water that disinfected where they reached, dressed with ointment made of plants and special fungi that set back any other microbial life.

Melian sent her spirit coursing through his body, exploring it thorougly, finding more spots where infection was taking hold. His immune system wasn't dividing its resources wisely, so she tugged it in the right direction, shutting down needless reactions and strengthening needed ones. Where she believed that wouldn't suffice, healers took pre-emptive action. Where lesions of infection neared the skin, they tried to dissolve substances through skin to tilt the balance in his favour. Some places could be only reached through bloodstream, though. The way to the bloodstream was through the stomach.

"Let's wake him."

It proved hard. Luthien tried and couldn't make contact with his mind. Beren had drifted too far off into the wasteland beyond sleep. Melian tried. When she reached his consciousness, however, Beren felt a pattern he had felt before, and fled from her.

"Don't go, I mean no harm to you!"  
"Who are you?!"  
"I am Melian. You are in Doriath."  
"You could be someone else."

"You are safe. You made it to Menegroth. You're in the infirmary. Please remember where you stopped, and come back to Luthien's company. The road there is hard, but she awaits you. We need to treat you. You need to drink the healers' medicines and plentiful water. Then you can sleep. Please, take my hand, follow me."

He approached her with care, doubting if she was real. She felt real and her touch on his mind was different. Mairon had pulled at every memory, throwing everything he'd read carelessly in disarray. Melian didn't distract him or dive into his past. He accepted her guidance and support, and undertook the effort to awaken. It was... he could only describe it as digging his way up through stiff and heavy snow.

Beren had been hit by an avalanche in mountains in his youth. Three of his hunting companions had remained under snow. Beren had fought his way to the surface and passed out there. Awakening instead of freezing to death had been so hard. In the company of Melian's spirit, who assured she wouldn't leave him behind, and could awaken him with hard stimulants if nothing else worked, the struggle to make his broken body awaken was less formidable. Fear of failure was removed, only effort was needed. Instead of stumbling in the dark, he knew the way, tried again and again, and each time he found an obstacle, she would clear it from the way.

Finally he opened his eyes and started coughing. Luthien sighed with relief.

They immediately gave him a potion that ensured he'd stay awake for a little while. After that came many other liquids, some to fight infection, some to set his balance of salts and water right, some to nourish and give energy selectively to him, not the disease.

"Please heal," Thingol asked. "I haven't always wished you well, but it's about time I started doing that. You've done far more than you should have, and you've lost too much already."

"Thanks," he said and fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

The guards posted by Elemmakil didn't challange Glorfindel for a password.

His voice was sufficient to recognize him.

Ecthelion came to the fourth gate with a second horse in tow and they talked of what could be talked publicly on streets, riding calmly towards the island of white rock in the middle of the valley. From that island rose two further islands, rightmost a little higher. Once a rocky peak of Amon Gwareth, stretching out from a glacial lake between mountains, it now accommodated Turgon's store-rooms and armories. On its top were the king's dwellings, most notably the tower. From Amon Gwareth to the neigbouring rocky hill there went a long and slender bridge. It was the perfect spot for kids to fly kites, or lovers to watch the warm sunsets of summer evenings.

Rising nearly a hundred steps beyond the level of the bridge, the king's tower was a marvel of careful engineering. It was sleek and strong, yet beautiful in form.

When they reached up there, Turgon's advisor Galdor went to arrange a meeting of the Council while Duilin offered refreshments. His dwellings were nearby and Glorfindel accepted. Weary of the months of travel, he was happy to bathe and play a match of chess. Urgency however pressed him onward and his appetite was less than he expected.

After an hour, couriers had done their share of message-passing. The Council would assemble in the evening, so Glorfindel could brief them about the world around.

Eleven members belonged to the Council, each for one House of Gondolin's elves. Turgon presided as king, but listened carefully to advise of his sister Aredhel, to Penlod, Galdor, Duilin, Ecthelion, Rog, Salgant and Egalmoth. Glorfindel wasn't an active member as his time was spent traveling distant lands, but when present, he represented the House of the Golden Flower, otherwise replaced by Enerdhil the jewel-smith.

The newcomer to the Council was Tuor. He was a human and stood at the table for all those without a House behind them, and there were numerous such people in the city, so some of them had to represent them.

Instead of Penlod there came Pengolodh, for his father was a healer and out in town receiving a birth, a duty which didn't bend well to planning. Glorfindel was glad to see him present. Searching for him and asking if he'd help would otherwise take time.

Doubt never existed that Turgon had the last word, but the table of the Council was round - who presented their case, stood at the center of the circle.

Thus, when all were in assembly, it was Glorfindel who abandoned his place and walked to the center.

* * *

"My colleagues, my lord... it is often that I have arrived and resentfully dragged myself here, to make news of nothing catch your slightest interest. Today, regretfully I must say that interesting times have started."

After his description of what he'd seen, questions were quick to follow. So many raised their index finger that Pengolodh seized his quill and offered to keep track.

"Please outline Finrod's mechanism and conclusions in more detail," Turgon asked.

"To explain it otherwise, a set of machines he's built, of which I brought along a smaller copy, constantly record the motions of the earth itself. They record an elfling casting a rock into the canyon. They record a landslide, a dam breaking, natural earthquakes but also Mairon messing with earth when he builds things. Finrod could monitor the rise of Angband comfortably from Nargothrond, and survey activity on Tol Sirion without leaving home either. He believes his machines can alert of a dragon approaching over a distance of tens of miles."

"Provided the dragon walks. We have these reports, you know," interfered Duilin.

"The reports are pretty much confirmed," said Rog. "Your magpie didn't imagine things. I asked some miners to take time and they went up to talk with eagles, bearing food and helpful materials for nesting. The eagles received such attention well. They've seen it too. It flies clumsily, but regardless, it does fly. Its flight is a storm, its landing is an earthquake too, its breath when angered is a forest fire... and if such a creature were to land on our city, none of Finrod's machines will help us know in advance. I say we phase out wooden buildings and dwell deeper underground. It helped the dwarves. Finrod likes his mountain. Thingol dwells in a thousand caves."

That's when Galdor wanted word.

"The direction of your plan is sound. Reworking all that's built, however... it's a huge task. Centuries are needed. Meanwhile, an attack may come in years. I suggest building paths. Secure paths that run underground, but fall short of rebuilding Menegroth or Nargothrond here. Paths that lead to the mountains. Paths that lead to your mines, to the springs. Even paths to Cissaegrim. These can be built in years."

"They can," Rog admitted.

"It would be a prelude to abandoning the city," Turgon mentioned without adding that he'd not. Gondolin was dear to him.

"I'm pained to hear these considerations," Tuor said, "but all cities of my kind have fallen. That three large elvish cities stand against such might, is a wonder to me, but should we not... be prepared? I don't think Ulmo would appear to bluff."

"I trust his word," Turgon said, "but Ulmo had a task for me too, and my task is not fulfilled. I'm fine with rebuilding, but if we start to abandon Gondolin, my task will forever be neglected. I cannot bear to know that. Gondolin wasn't only meant to be a safe haven. It had a role to play in the coming storm."

"As has Nargothrond," said Glorfindel, "and Finrod's certain that the strike will land on him. They are already evacuating. People with families to raise are opting to go elsewhere, at least for a while. Sirion is popular among the Noldor, while Sindar head to Menegroth. And that brings me to his proposal."

"I'm not qualified to evaluate his proposal," admitted Turgon. "Will anyone of you stand up and take this challenge?"

Rog tilted his head. "My intuition says it's feasible, but I'm poor at math. I'm ready to help doing it, however."

That's when Pengolodh stood up.

"I can verify his calculations. We can even make miniature models first. I propose we drop the idea of dropping anything from the king's tower, however. It is insuficient and seems barbaric, even if it would be necessarily so. Instead, from the tower we can signal to the mountains via mirror during day, via fire during night. In the mountains, Rog's deepest mine-shafts can be used to send a message via earth."

"But didn't Rog say that carving a shaft a thousand steps deep was unfeasible here?" inquired Glorfindel.

"Infeasible here in the valley, as water will break in," Rog corrected. "Entirely possible in the mountains however, just like you describe of Finrod's mountain. We actually happen to have a shaft almost eight hundred steps in depth. Let's improve it a little."

What Finrod had proposed was dropping ten tons of streamlined weight by one kilometer onto rock, and repeating that three times. His alternative suggestion of collapsing three chambers in a mine was off the table at the moment, as Gondolin had no experience with dwarvish blasting powders. Following instructions to start their safe making would be slow.

If the project worked, though, the two cities would be linked by a means of signaling that nobody could prevent, and that could carry a message from Nargothrond to Gondolin in seconds, even if the message meant one thing: being under attack.

The meeting carried on. Tuor had to excuse himself soon as he grew sleepy. Elves could hold meetings that lasted ten hours straight, provided that wine and salty water from the springs were on table. He could not, and neither could he let Idril wait, for she had little Eärendil to care for.

* * *

 _Author's note: as you observe, in this flavour the world, Aredhel either never met Eöl, or they met, chatted and went their separate ways. Or perhaps they did live together, but Maeglin lives with Eöl? Who knows. I wish I did. The House of the Mole does not exist, however._


	29. Disregard for rules

Beren's condition did not improve.

Cutting more of his hand off wouldn't help, they agreed. The local infection on his hand was yielding to treatment. Antiseptics had neutralized the outlying parts of the infection, but the crude natural antibiotics that healers of Menegroth had administered, could not flush it out of his body.

Each time a creature from the wolf's saliva managed to reproduce despite them, a more resilient breed was chosen from among billions of candidates. In half an hour, it would again multiply.

Pushed by Melian in the right direction, Beren's own immune system was beginning to recognize and fight them, mobilizing an army of hundreds of millions against billions, but with the production of antibodies denoting what the targets actually were... with that only starting, that horde of cells was running around blind. This infection wasn't blind, however. It knew what would eventually attack them, and dealt great damage pre-emptively to disrupt the process.

Finally his reserves of strength were exhausted. His bloodstream carried poison now across his body. Every step towards healing had been hampered by something else.

Luthien couldn't watch it, but couldn't leave him either.

She had gone through her knowledge of healing methods. Nothing was left to try. If he'd been an elf, he could have adjusted his body to make conditions inhospitable for the disease, but for Beren, the scale of elvish possibilities was deadly at both ends.

Thus she went to the dwarves of Menegroth, specifically to a dwarf named Floi.

"We are failing. My mother has exhausted her skills. Is there anything you can suggest?"  
"If your mother has tried and resigned, there is nothing I can offer probably."

"There has to be something."  
"There is always something, and if it doesn't kill the disease, it kills him."

"Can't you know that somehow?"  
"No, unfortunately I really can't."

"Can't we find it out? If I try hard, I can see what happens in his body, and my own."  
"If we accidentally administer a poison and you see it work, what's the use of seeing that?"

"Administer just a little."  
"These are powerful substances. Even a little can hurt a lot."

"Can't we contain it and measure its effect?"  
"Well..."

Their talk went in circles, coming back to the matter.

"Can't you test it on part of him, a spoonful of his blood?", she offered.  
"I can, but I can't know any result before hours pass, and even then it's not conclusive," he said.  
"I might know sooner."  
"If you claim so."

She consulted once more with Melian and she warned Luthien to be careful.

Seeing Beren on his way out of life moved her to try desperate measures, however.

They chose thirty powerful substances from Floi's laboratory which might have some suitable properties.

Dissolving a small amount of each, they added a droplet of each to a tiny amount of Beren's blood, and Luthien made her best effort to sense the reaction. A spoonful of blood was so little, and the signature of life in that so weak, that they had to move away from Beren, Floi had to move away from Luthien, and she had to strain her mind for long. Life was all around them, life that none could see. Its background noise was strong.

Eventually she trained her mind on their experiment hard enough to see it... failing. In twenty-five samples of thirty, Beren's life was extinguished. In five of these, the infection was dead too, in twenty it still lived. In four of the remaining samples, no change had been effected. In one, the infection was severely harmed and Beren's blood still lived, through weaker.

"What is this?"  
"A precursor of a color that only sticks to certain minerals."

"Nobody has tried it for a medical purpose before?"  
"Not to my knowledge."

"What if I tested it on myself before giving it to him?"  
"Given that you are healthy and your kind is immortal, and this substance is not rare on earth, you might recover even if it harms you. If it doesn't harm you, it might still harm him, though the probablility is lesser then."

"I might observe it acting on my own body."  
"Oh. If you can do that, then maybe..."

She took it and Floi watched over her just in case.

Luthien explained that she'd be turning her attention inward, so the dwarf wouldn't get worried.

Tracking down the effect of the substance was confusing and hard. Luthien didn't discover how the substance interacted with her body. The only thing she could assure was that it didn't harm her. Then again, she wasn't a human.

Melian did another round of trying to prop up Beren's immune system for the fight, and told not to expect any more miracles.

"Your father would say that we're like three bootless robbers trying to storm Menegroth. Beren is losing the fight. If your dwarvish friend has anything to offer, you should try it soon, or nothing remains to save."

* * *

Thus she gave him the dwarvish not-even-medicine, the only thing that hadn't killed his blood, but had killed the creatures infesting him.

Next they waited and Luthien observed his reactions, her mind drifting along with his bloodstream, feeling this way and that.

What came of it, was not as she'd expected. The dwarvish dye stuck only to the cells of the disease. Each tiny particle opened a microscopic tap the cells used to regulate their chemical balance... and got stuck there, barring it open. What flowed through, she couldn't know, but the effect was rapid and devastating. The disease was paralyzed, its cells stopped functioning and still there coursed countless particles of the dye, ready to cling to anything that matched.

Then however, Luthien realized what they had done. As the disease started dying and its cells breaking down, releasing their content, loads of strange poisons entered Beren's blood, overwhelming him. It was taking him along.

She didn't let go however, but fought on every step, trying to restart what failed, bolster up what broke. Floi didn't know what to make of it, and had healers summon Melian. Melian understood with horror that Luthien was prohibiting Beren's departure with such force that her own life was parting too. Melian hadn't seen such a mess before, and knew correctly that she couldn't do anything to separate them. She asked from Floi what they had done, and the dwarf explained Luthien's last conclusion before she'd sent her mind to work on Beren.

Melian examined the bottle with the liquid, and shook her head.

"If only sooner had you done this."  
"We didn't dare to. It wasn't a medicine, but was the only substance that passed our test."

"What did you make it for?"  
"To measure the presence of a particular mineral in mixtures."

* * *

Luthien had given up trying to mend Beren's body. His mind was stopping and his spirit trying to fade. With her mind mingled with his, that was proving difficult however, and his steps were confused. Instead of Beren going the way he was meant, or perhaps unbecoming instead...

...it was Luthien who appared before Namo, with Beren on her hands.

The guardian of immortal souls had known this day would come. Regardless it was... complicated.

He watched them from distance at first.

The elf was nowhere near her time of coming here - and not a proper elf. The man was far past any chance of going anywhere. His struggle had been long and he was weary. Victory in the struggle against his illness dealt his death blow.

What they had done on Arda was only starting to unroll. They wouldn't see or know it. Perhaps that was for better. Luhien's song being repeated by Melkor had altered the song of the world. She'd done more than was meant for her kind.

Roused from his routine, Namo had turned to watch their passage. On his second day of watching, he'd seen another creature exceed his bounds and alter the world-song. His was not a lullaby however, but a scream of rage. It warned of days to come. Someone would have power to unmake what was supposed to last.

Why had it all gone this way, Namo considered... was it truly inevitable from the start? Did Eru make mistakes too?

He diminished his form to not overwhelm or scare them, and walked closer.

Luthien recognized who had come to meet them.

"Why are we here?"

"Because you refused his passage, yet he had to pass. You had no authority to keep him, yet you did. I understand your love for him, but he was merely your companion. Now however, your mind is mixed with his, preventing his departure from the world, barring the door, storing what cannot be stored. You are mixed up beyond my ability to sort. You weren't supposed to do this. It is against the customs and not particularly sensible. I will have to think about what to do. I cannot let you leave together with him, and I cannot keep him here."

"That is all true... but still I would do that again."

"I partly understand that. I have seen the illusion that is love. Also, you aren't the only one who breaks all rules lately. I saw another too. Fortunately that one can still alter course."

Uneasy silence followed as Namo considered what to do... and Luthien considered what her deed had meant, and who else broke all rules. Melian and Floi meanwhile kept Beren's body from stopping entirely. The dwarf used physical force to keep his lungs breathing air, and make blood pass through his stopped heart. As long as that occurred, Melian had something she could act against, even if it was mere nerves that had given up the illusion of consciousness and fired in disarray. They still stored the same memories, and nothing was irreversible yet.


	30. Judgement of convenience

To pass her time in the dark halls of Mandos, Luthien sang a song.

She didn't know if Beren would hear her, since even his spirit seemed dead... but since they were now truly mixed up beyond figuring out, she believed he might.

It wasn't a cheerful song, but a lament that told of a world built by a disagreeing makers - a broken world winding down a broken road of fate. Its inhabitants were confused and didn't match each other. Only some could harvest light to maintain themselves. Others had to consume them and break their harvest down.

While the former sometimes willingly offered their fruit for eating, that was but a product of their race to find new places. No place was secure, thus they had accepted the outcome of their fruits being eaten, offering them willingly for a chance of their seeds being sown. Creatures who understood this deal had seized the opportunity and adjusted it further. They would deliberately sow the seeds and patiently wait for fruit.

While the spirits who'd come from outside didn't need to partake in this process... everyone else had to. That in itself was unjust. The smallest insects preyed upon microscopic creatures, feasted on plants and ate each other, taken in turn by fish, amphibians, mammals and birds, who then consumed each other to the best of their skill. Even the great eagles were chained to the sky by these rules. Whatever else they did, this they could not alter. In the end, the microbes took revenge too - the smallest took on the largest too and fought to consume them.

Children of the world with mind enough to understand... would see it all and ask "why?". Each kind went to different lengths in their puzzlement. Perhaps it didn't bother the fish and merely confused the birds, but it definitely bothered elves, dwarves and humans. Some would rebel against it in their ways, others considered that as futile as emptying a sea with buckets.

Upon the younger kinds, one more burden weighed. Their lives were limited. By the time they'd learn to live decently, life was over. Some would never learn in time. Orcs and goblins were ensnared in their vicious culture. Dwarves and humans tried, but very often failed. Illness and death brough so much misery and toil, that few had time to think beyond tomorrow's bread on table, and the next year's harvest.

Sensible behaviour was not innate. Elves had also fallen. How could learning sense be expected, in such conditions? It could not, she thought. Among the sorry state of the world, what cheered her only, was the fact that some creatures learnt despite conditions.

Their knowledge would be lost with them, however. War took its toll every century, death reaped with a heavy hand among the Edain. The Khuzdul who lived underground kept their knowledge in stone and metal, but with every generation learning over and over, most of their progress was wasted.

Elves... could have tried to change that, but most did not. An ancient enemy kept their attention elsewhere. Rules, customs and preconceptions stood in their way. Communication between the different kinds was hampered. For an elf to lose their friend or loved one, left a terrible void... so to befriend someone who you definitely would lose soon, was a high obstacle to overcome. To help mortals, was to hurt oneself badly, repeatedly.

With a note of grief and irony, she sang of an elf wanting to help humans, but dooming them since they became his allies in an unwinnable struggle... and of a servant of darkness accidentally helping some by doing harm to others - starting his own tainted flavour of the secret fire and granting what was prohibited. His gift could entice the strongest mind, for even the strongest mind feared death. To have it, one would have to accept doing endless harm to their own kind to survive, which was... only a bit more than one had to do anyway, as all life was of the same kind in a way.

At the end of her song, Luthien predicted downfall.

Perhaps it was fair that mortals could escape this world entirely - on such a course, living there would eventually not be worthwhile.

"I wish to be counted among the mortals. The deal is off. None of this is fair. Those who made the rules should know that better than me. I can't demand it, but the high and mighty should consider what they've started. They have eyes to see. I give up what was given to me. I wish to leave with Beren."

* * *

Namo was of patient temper, and not offended. Least of all by a prediction that could be truthful. He was slow to make conclusions, though. Watching Luthien try to coax her lover's spirit back to any semblance of functioning, Namo considered and time passed. Time in the halls of Mandos passed at its own strange pace.

Would he go before his peers and lay it out before them? Since when did a judge have authority to start remaking law? Namo's word counted as the last word, but only in reply to questions. His role was finding answers. Thus he went and sought the answers to her prediction. He glimpsed the future and saw that Luthien had erred... but just a little. The actual future was worse.

Melkor would be brushed aside by new and more efficient evils. Instead of a mere hell, earth would be a ruthless factory of armaments for conquering the heavens, and the heavens *could* be conquered and destroyed. His halls outside the bounds of time could be besieged. Perhaps they also could be broken? He didn't look that far, as getting personally involved was not his way of working.

He came back and with a conscience somewhat hurt, pronounced a judgement that was incomplete.

* * *

"Luthien, daughter of Melian and Elwe; Beren, son of Barahir and Emeldir; both of you shall return to earth.

I note that I'm taking the easy way out of this situation, as you, Beren, are not quite as dead as you were upon coming here. There is a rather persistent dwarf squeezing air through your lungs, and one of the Maiar has taken as her task to make your heart beat despite its own power stopping. I foresee that they can still heal you for some years.

Live your lives now as you will, and do support each other, for it is beyond my skill to separate you. Luthien will be no longer counted among the elves. At your life's end, you not only may, but must leave together.

More of your request I cannot consider or grant, as a doomsman does not play king. I will however go before my equals in due time. There I shall tell by which way you arrived here, what you said and what you referenced in song, what I undertook to determine if your words were true, and whether that was so. Also note that it wasn't entirely so, but that is not your fault."


	31. Among the Haladin

Luthien recovered fast, as her body had never stopped.

Beren... learnt to walk again in a month. Strange pains and minor seizures visited him on weekly basis. "I'm not the first human of ill health, and will not be the last," he said.

Floi and Luthien had fashioned him an artificial palm. When he stretched his arm, a spring unloaded, stretching out its fingers carved of wood. When he curved it back, a tensing string of yarn countered the force of the spring, and the fingers even grasped.

Fortunately Beren Erchamion was right-handed, so he didn't need to re-learn more.

No longer suitable for the trades he knew, Beren was learning Cirth and assisting Floi with his laboratory.

Elves were slower to give their trust. Many still shied away from him, but the dwarves of Menegroth didn't. Knowledge that one of them had helped save the king's son-in-law, had made them even more curious - if the guy was worth saving, obviously he was worth talking to.

Already some of his new friends were elvish too. Beleg, captain of the guard, was sociable and talkative when not on duty. He knew plenty of war and injury and tried to smooth the outcome. Together they had rigged Beren's left hand so that he could again practise with a bow, even if that required fumbling for a while to get his hand adjusted. One day he'd figure out a way to do it conveniently.

They'd spent many days with Thingol, briefing the king of all they'd seen on their travels. Menegroth now also prepared for war.

* * *

About her time spent out of this world, Luthien asked Beren and told nobody else. Beren remembered her song, but didn't remember Namo. He remembered someone voicing that judgement, though.

He worried. If she was to be counted among mortals, would disease and age assault her now? Luthien was many centuries old. She calmed him, assuring that she felt no harm befalling her. It was a matter of book-keeping and formality, she assured. But they would have to depart together. "Do not worry, beloved. I will do my best to keep you around for long. Once the day comes when I'm unable to, I have no further reason to stay here."

"Your parents will be sad, though."

"They will. But a hundred different things could have happened to me, despite my parents protecting me. I could have fallen off a cliff, which is far worse than falling in love. I could have drowned in Esgalduin, been struck by a horse, and neither Thingol's state nor Melian's magic could have warded that off. I have already lived tenfold longer than you. We still have lots of time. Please don't worry, really."

* * *

Knowing that, he didn't worry. Luthien knew better and did. She immediately started learning medicine suited for humans. She'd often ride to meet with healers from Haladin tribes, who lived in the borderlands of north-western Doriath. They were grateful for Melian's daughter taking interest in their life. Beneficial skills changed hands and suddenly the Haladin lived longer. Birth became a relatively risk-free event, pneumonia and sepsis no longer were the captains of death's companies. Frailty could be delayed, but Luthien could not do miracles. She simply applied what she knew of elvish and dwarvish medicine on humans.

Her frequent rides north-west didn't go unnoticed. Seeking ways to simplify his task, Boldog had ordered borderlands scouted thoroughly. Lands inhabited by humans outside of Melian's fence were easy to infiltrate. Humans lacked the even-present attention that elves gave their surroundings.

Luthien didn't walk blind, however. Her experience had cautioned her, so she likewise took example from both Finrod and Thingol. She didn't visit such places alone, but always with a sizable company of guards.

* * *

Knowing the deadline set by his master approached, trying to avert the danger of marching all-out against the oldest elven kingdom... Boldog thus designed a plan of assault. It should be launched when Luthien was west of Neldoreth, preferably visiting human tribes of Brithiach.

If executed well, this plan would have the orc-hosts of Dorthonion march quickly down the pass of Anach, fill the triangular unforested valley between Neldoreth and Brethil, and cut westwards through the forest of Brethil along the line to Amon Obel.

Troops from Barad Sirion would meanwhile descend to the western side of Brethil, cutting eastward towards Amon Obel and meeting at the hill. Once the hill, and the weak human fort of Ephel Brandir was taken, Boldog's army could hold this part of Doriath long enough to search and burn it. Once Luthien was found and taken, Boldog's host would spare themselves the trouble of entering elvish heartland, and retreat back north.

There was a problem, though.

Barad Sirion was missing a proper commander. Mairon, who knew that region best of all, was posted at Angband, rebuilding what the episode of chaos had broken.

Through lots of bickering and negotiation, Mairon got his way partly. Glaurung, the father of dragons, would ensure the safe taking of the fords of Brithiach and then handle the western flank of Brethil in passing, moving downstream to his final goal of Nargothrond. He'd have preferred if Glaurung had deployed to the wedge between Brethil and Doriath, but that was deemed a too slow. Nargothrond needed an element of surprise and with that, Mairon agreed not once, but thrice.

Thingol on the other hand, was convinced by his daughter and drew plans to assist Brethil if it were attacked. These weren't well-drawn plans, however. Brethil had no proper government to face the elf-king and make promises they could keep. Thingol resented. He wanted to deal with equals, or at least someone who pretended to be his equal. Beren had the nerve for that, and that worked wonders for their personal reconciliation.

With a slight stabilizing touch from elves, the people of Haleth got along nicely in near-anarchy however, and neither an inherited kingdom nor an elected leadership had appeared among them. The closest candidate was the chieftain Brandir, son of Handir and Beldis, who dwelled on Amon Obel. Still a young man, he was crippled however - beyond even the ability to ride a horse, due to a broken leg improperly set in his youth.

Brandir the Lame was he called, and though the name wasn't derogatory, he wasn't a man of war.

Brandir didn't seek dominion over others, and focused what effort he could spare on the prevention of regular famine among his tribe. In that he succeeded, but he wasn't the man to come to Thingol's table with a list of commanders and units, defenses and armaments.

Brandir made no pretense of being one to negotiate with Thingol, and spoke the truth instead. Truth, in this case, hadn't been the right card to start the game with, if proper assistance was sought.

Seeing their precarious position, Luthien had not kept silent, but had approached Brandir.

Her attempt alone was not fruitful, still. Whatever Brandir personally thought of Luthien, the legacy of Haleth had been almost forgotten, and advise from women in matters of defense and war, was not taken seriously in Haladin circles - even if the woman was an elf-witch who did lots of good, and likely knew the ways of doing otherwise - for it was rumoured that she had faced the Lord of the North, who made all things wither, and came back unharmed.

Thus Luthien introduced him to Beren, who could travel by that time. Beren's three trips to Brethil had brought more political effect that Luthien's constant traveling.

He'd come to know the chieftain, and they had talked at length. Perhaps encouraged by another fellow who was likewise injured beyond repair, but spirited to fight regardless, Brandir had used his influence... to assemble alliances and mutual arrangements. Still there was too little for Thingol to think even twice, but there was something - if the worst came to happen, dedicated people would spread word, and it was known beforehand, who could help whom and how.

Soon enough, the worst would come to pass.


	32. Into war

It was a year after Beren's healing, on the next summer, when Luthien went to Brethil with nearly an embassy.

Her escort wasn't made of only guards.  
Trading elves came, men and even some women from Thingol's court.

Beren had needed time off and didn't come. He wearied of travel quicker now than before, and had become good friends with Floi, building stuff and sketching what couldn't be built yet. Luthien liked his imagination, even if it wasn't backed by skills of making. Floi had plenty of the latter.

Luthien traveled slower this time, which could have been the beginning of it. Wagons were involved, instead of mere horses swiftly running along paths. Creatures bearing messages for friend and foe could lazily outfly them.

* * *

Word reached Barad Sirion in hours.

Glaurung was nearby.

Through powers of the mind, the dragon instantly took counsel with the chiefs of Morgoth's army. Mairon weaseled a little, escalated the question and Morgoth himself gave authority. As an afterthought to a well-considered plan, a squad of ten more Balrogs ran headfirst from the gates of Angband, heading south. Tireless they ran, for insufficient were their numbers downstream. At the tower by Sirion, barges were already fitted with equipment, pushed afloat and tested.

Dorthonion woke soon after. Boldog was already camped for travel, and didn't need to organize a call to arms. Orcs were not tireless, but were fast when lead. The first section of the camp was broken down and the advance guard had reached twenty miles into the pass of Anach when Luthien reached Brethil.

* * *

Most of her escort stayed at Amon Obel, which was gradually and unintentionally becoming the capital of Brethil. Luthien herself didn't stay, but reverted to her habitual mode of travel, and left quickly, accompanied by twenty men and some women from Thingol's guard, towards Brithiach.

During the ride, she started feeling strange.

By the time she arrived, met the humans of Brithiach and was supposed to visit her patients, Luthien, a healer without equal among humans, needed healers to help her.

"I don't know what's happening with me.  
It's as if something tried to invade my dreams.  
I cannot focus, I cannot calculate, my memory is fine, though."

Human healers were perplexed and couldn't help. One of them who dabbled in sorcery, suggested it might not be a disease. Luthien asked for their schedule to be changed and tried to sleep. In her sleep, she saw a great storm cover forests, darkening the land. She awoke, but there was sunshine. She felt earth shake with heavy steps approaching. She awakened, but nothing shook even a little.

* * *

She went before her colleagues.

"I think it's not a disease, but sense of future arriving early. I know my mother can see a bit ahead in time, so I might also. I think we're about to be attacked. Please do take me seriously, this is not a joke. I will go to the chieftain and recommend evacuating the whole village. Regardless of what he chooses, please do me the favour of getting at least your households ready."

They were shaken. Peace had lasted for their lifetime.

They took her warning seriously, though. Too much had this elf taught them. Never even once had she tricked or warned in vain.

The chieftain was a hostage of his politics however.  
He wouldn't give a call to arms, nor start evacuating.

Luthien almost got angry with him, but realized her anger would be misread.  
Instead she took her bag, pulled out the seeing-glass she still carried, and proclaimed.

"Then accept this gift from me. Please. I received it from Finrod son of Finarfin the king of Nargothrond, to assist me on my northbound journey. It lets you see further than human or elvish eyes reach. Permit me to show you its abilities, but accept the gift only if you make me a promise. Use it often, very often during the coming week."

The chieftain had expected a scolding and was genuinely surprised.

She walked with him to the bridge over the fords to show its usage, and trained the seeing-glass north.

"I think I can see over ten miles with it."  
"Can you see the cloud of dust near the Dry River?"

"I can. A number of riders must be coming down the riverbed. At least a dozen in number."  
"I thought the same. If you dont't mind, I'd try to see if they are elves or men."  
"Elves for certain. Our horses don't go that fast."

She saw elves with pointed helmets, bearing streamlined metal shields.  
Shields with strange insignia that Luthien had never seen.  
Soon enough the human chieftain saw the same.

* * *

At least twenty horsemen came along the trade road at their fastest pace.

They stayed, though bridge-guards asked if that was safe and wise.

Seeing Luthien standing on the bridge, the squad split up. Seventeen riders sped along their road, while three turned south and stopped before her.

"We come with messages to Thingol king of Doriath, are you truly Luthien?"  
"I am, but Thingol is not near. Your comrades went the right way. I won't reach my father soon."

"Please take our message anyway. War is breaking out. Armies move south along the Sirion. Please tell, can we somehow pass the veil of Doriath at speed?"

Luthien unpinned a flower woven of silver wire from her coat. She gave the flower colored with green and blue enamel to the warrior.

"You cannot, but take this and talk with guards. Tell that I gave it to you here."  
"Thank you, lady. Let your passage here be safe. Do not venture north!"

"Your advise is sound, warrior, I wish you speed and strength."

The horsemen turned and went east, following the trade road.  
Elboron would soon encounter them and join them as a guide.

* * *

"Do not attempt to hold the bridge, chief Hundar. Destroy it fully."  
"It is made of stone and stood before our birth. I doubt our ability to break it fast enough."  
"It's an elvish bridge, yes. Would you accept my guidance in destroying it swiftly?"

Hundar was doubtful, but underestimating elves had proven tricky today.

"I would."

She showed which stones to hit with sledgehammers. Two existed. They used crowbars to pull out nearby stones, rigged a rope across the bridge and started work. Men doing the job wore harnesses in case it worked.

After thirty minutes of pouring sweat and breaking hammers, a great crack was heard. The upstream-facing wedge-stone flew from its position. Among a cloud of dust, workmen hung by their harnesses to rope while the river boiled with falling stone below.

"This only helps fend off attackers crossing Sirion.  
There will be others coming down the river, that is sure.  
Leave soon and head south. Only depth of forest will protect you.  
Send word to all, and I will do the same. Do not wait for Thingol, he'll fight battles to arrive here."

Hundar thanked Luthien and went to organize his people.  
Luthien and her elvish guards disapppeared into forest, riding south.

* * *

The ground-listener sprang up and came running.

"Coming, coming, lots of hooves, fast!"  
"Remember our duty. We die here to cut off warnings," Graugleg emphasized again.  
"We knew it, durba. Melkor will reward our spirits and our children too."

Ambushing an elf was a thankless job. Only a hurried elf could be ambushed, and even then the cost was high. Graugleg was here to pay the price in full, with a wallet full of seasoned warriors.

Their camouflage was for naught, the first elvish rider saw the ropes on ground. He couldn't stop himself, but whistled to the horses.

They pulled. The ropes sprang up and locked.  
Many ropes there were, as elvish horses weren't stopped by one rope.  
Many a horse couldn't stop themselves and threw their riders, falling in a pile.  
Many a rider hit the ropes and fell a hard fall.

Graugleg, seized arrow after arrow, shooting at them madly.  
Crorbat fell at his side, a dagger in his forehead.  
He shot, shot, missing, missing, hitting. That elf was down!  
Then he saw the last of them exit the forest.  
Throgh the battle-screams, he recognized her voice.

"Take... her... down..."

Time was distorting, her blow came at their minds.  
The only spell he knew. He must. He had to.  
With great difficulty he said what he'd been taught.  
It helped!

"Take the last elf down!", Graugleg roared with his last living strength.

Despite the sword in his stomach, he tried to loose an arrow.  
Another elvish warrior broke his bow.

Luthien jumped from her horse and landed in the thicket, rolled and looked around.  
The confusion was great, in part because of the orcish ambush,  
but also because of her words.

She wasn't warrior enough to join the melee.  
Instead she looked around for who'd need healing first.  
When the orc-squad had been finished, she tried to save her fallen guards.  
Two of Luthien's guards passed to the halls of Mandos on that hour.  
Three could be brought back.

They split up to gain back half a day of time. Luthien and ten guards rode ahead at speed, five healthy and three wounded men trailed slower on the same path.


	33. Uncertainty moves first

Boldog's troops came down through the pass of Anach without challenge. As they descended to the plains, Glaurung's orders reached them.

"The bridge is gone and word is moving fast. Send men east and hold Mindeb against the enemy. Do not obstruct Sirion. I mean that. We shall reinforce you soon and get your troops across."

He sent acknowledgement and obeyed the dragon's order.  
There had been uncertainty from the start over how things would go.  
That humans had enough warning to destroy the bridge, was a surprise.

The orc-host split.  
A few hundreds of wolf-riders went scouting along the trade road.  
Five thousand well armored fighters marched south-east to secure the western bank of Mindeb.  
Ten thousand waited to cross Sirion.

They didn't need to wait alone for long. Glaurung became visible first. The dragon had already helped himself to the western bank of Sirion and looked like a dark hill covered with spears stepping downstream, making earth shake. He carried a few hundred special troops on his back, turned away from the river westward and lit the edge of the forest where it pleased his sight.

Soon came barges too. Barges full of Barad Sirion's orc-hosts, pushing with poles for speed. They drove their barges into the western bank and stopped to assemble into larger units and unpack their weapons. The human village was swiftly torched.

Then came barges with balrogs. Again to the western bank! Downstream along Sirion they ran with now-assembled battalions of orcs in tow.

Boldog signaled "arrange crossing". A balrog signaled back "soon", and to Boldog's surprise, the fire-demon started raking the river with a long-stemmed iron hand-plow. Then he realized. It was dredging for more depth.

The line of barges that soon crossed over the ruins of the bridge was great. Boldog counted fifty and stopped calculating in exact numbers. Each barge carried approximately two hundred orcs, or alternatively three balrogs. Knowing ten thousand orcs had just headed downstream fast, Boldog rejoiced for the bridge being ruined. "The poor fools. Destroying the bridge, they opened a highway for the tower's troops."

"Your turn", was signaled. A balrog flung a steel cable to where they'd already hammered posts in ground. Orcs secured the cable and balrogs started pushing empty barges into the river, manning them when they floated. Approaching the cable, they braked with long poles and clamped the barges to the steel cable, shifting them to form a bridge. Boldog's troops ran onto the barges with a store of planks and rope, quickly clamped these down and started rapidly crossing the Sirion.

He counted one hundred men per minute. His main host would be across the river in an hour. The remainder could afford to tarry. "Keep trolls back," he commanded, remembering the mess they'd made of bridges on excercises, "intelligent creatures will cross first this time."

Trolls were needed, though, to bring across catapults and munitions.

* * *

Luthien and her guards arrived at Amon Obel as the sun was setting.

Their horses were sweating, drooling and shaking after the exhausting ride. The elves themselves weren't cheerful either. Losing their kin in an ambush to orcs was unheard of. Quietly and soberly they gave their horses to the local humans' care, immediately they asked about replacement horses.

Luthien, accompanied by Aeglirel and Braspen sought out Rhunenor and they went to meet Brandir at once. She didn't waste time with formalities. Rhunenor was the only one whose armor glistened. Luthien was bloody all over from dealing with the wounded, Braspen had taken mace to his leg and limped, his quivers were empty and bow gone, while Aeglirel had no helmet, instead her head was in bandages and one of her daggers was missing.

Silence came without words being said, until Luthien made her way to the table and ended it.

"Brethil is under attack.  
I saw to the destruction of the Brithiach bridge by the hands of Hundar's men.  
I advised Hundar to dispatch word and find cover deep in woods.  
I came to bring you word, but we were ambushed halfway.  
Two of my men are dead, the rest will heal.  
We have reason to expect full armies coming down the Sirion."

Brandir paled, but made his first moves lika a chieftain should.

"Send three messengers to Thingol via separate paths.  
Rouse more messengers, send them here for instructions!"

"Thingol will likely know by tomorrow's evening.  
Word is moving towards him since morning, carried by elf-warriors from mountains.  
There was twenty of them, I trust that they'll arrive."

"Do you think Thingol will call Doriath to arms?"  
"Given that I am here, he will seize arms and set out this way."

"Have you any idea about the strength of the attack?"

"This is not an orc-chieftain's private venture, these are Morgoth's legions.  
The question is whether Brethil is the target."

"Do you think so?"

"That could depend. If I and my people ride out instantly towards the bridge after Esgalduin,  
Brethil's target value might drop... along with its chance of getting assistance from Thingol,  
along with its ability to resist. However, if the enemy knows for certain that we aren't here,  
you might get less troops assigned to beat you into ground."

"And if you stay?"

"Then Morgoth will be wanting me, I know that.  
Chief Brandir, a choice is drawing near.  
To make it wisely, we need all the information fast.  
Your people need to decide if we should stay or go."

"You speak as if you were ready to stay?"  
"My two captains stand here at my side, and Aeglirel is a lieutenant."

"We've talked with Luthien. If she commands, we'll stay, but our force only suffices to delay and divert," said Rhunenor. "This fort is wastewood, though - it won't hold them for two hours. Defense of this hill is out of question, it will burn soon. I think we'll do most good on the east-west road, keeping the two southbound roads open for people to flee."

"I agree," said Braspen, and Aeglirel nodded. The two southbound roads on both sides of Amon Obel would be soon flooded with refugees. If these were cut off at their intersections with the east-west road, bad things would happen.

"What's the state of local weapons stores?", Aeglirel asked.

"They are very humble," Brandir said. "In the fort, we have armor for two hundred men, swords for one hundred and fifty, spears for maybe three hundred, and if you also count the hunting arrows, then maybe two thousand arrows. Bows and more arrows are found in nearly every household."

"And how many people?", Rhunenor asked, clarifying "I'd wish to know the total of living souls so I can estimate the number willing to fight."

"In total, we number about two thousand people around the hill. In the whole forest, perhaps ten thousand live."

"If we show good example, maybe we could get twenty percent of people to stand and fight. If they see a troll, that drops to ten percent", Aeglirel guessed, "and if they see a balrog, five percent will stand the ground."

"You predict a hundred men will stand and the rest will flee?", Brandir asked.

"Yes, let's not be optimistic. What if we recruited from among the refugees?", Aeglirel asked next.

"Of the ten thousand in the forest, maybe two or three thousand will try to flee along the roads," Runenor suggested, "they always make that mistake."

"We can't arm them," Aeglirel noted.  
"They'll flee bearing their own arms," Brandir emphasized.

"They'll have families along," Braspen added.  
"Will that make them more motivated or less?", was Aeglirel's next question. "Sorry, I really want to know. I haven't lived with humans anywhere nearby."

"More likely less," Brandir admitted.

"Let's not be optimistic, maybe we can recruit two hundred further soldiers," Luthien suggested.

"That means we could repel a poorly motivated orc-host of one thousand. Since the humans know this forest well, maybe even more," Aeglirel guessed.

"And suppose someone like Mairon came, maybe with two or three balrogs?", Luthien wanted to cool her warrior's head a little.

"Then we'd have to flee, presuming it wouldn't be too late for that," the lieutenant admitted.

* * *

"Everything obviousy depends on what we're up against," Brandir said. "I'll have my people do the best to find it out. I'll post guards on the intersections, ask everyone for what they've seen."

"Permission to go there?", Aeglirel asked from Rhunenor.  
"Go and take notes, meet us in two hours."

During night, information started leaking into Amon Obel. Aeglirel, who kept watch on the eastern intersection with the human captain Agathor, questioned many travelers. Forest fires in the east, they said.

Finally there came a lone horseman at great speed. His looks were elvish, but midnight showed no more. At first he seemed to spur his horse, intending to run through the human warriors who shouted him to stop, but Aeglirel yelled "Daro!" twice and he pulled the reins.

"We understand your hurry, traveler," Aeglirel explained, "but spare us a few minutes. I need information for Thingol's guards. Why are you in such a hurry westward? Have you seen things first-hand?"

The elf stepped off his horse. Dark was his armor, dark was his long hair, dark were his eyes, and they matched the news he brought.

"We seem to get encircled, that's my hurry. Yes, I saw things first hand. I wanted to go east. A barge with three balrogs came down the river. Then a barge with two and a big catapult. They floated by shooting fireballs into the dry forest. I put an arrow into one and it merely waved its fist at me, laughing. Then came barges with orcs, 'bout three hundred on each, and they started landing. I'd say about ten thousand orcs are on the move east of us. I decided that my short way home is elsewhere."

"And what were the orcs doing?"  
"Landing, unpacking, what are they supposed to do?", he asked impatiently.

"Did they light fires?", she demanded to know.  
"Oh, good question. Yes, I saw a few fires. They might not march until morning."

"Might you want to stay and fight?"  
"Thingol's not my king."

"It's not even Thingol's kingdom, but we have a common enemy."  
"I'll rather go and see the western passage."

"The offer's open if you come back. That's an impressive crossbow. I hear it itching to try its luck in war."  
"Stay real, Sinda, we stand no chance even if I had one for each of you."

Eöl mounted his horse again and sped west towards Talath Dirnen.


	34. Of sand and wooden logs

The first thing Luthien noticed in morning, was that sun delayed its rise.  
Its reddish rays touched upper atmosphere, but none were spared for Brethil.

A great storm, a storm like none she'd seen before, was gathering east of them.  
The towering clouds made a flattened bubble of enormous height,  
and the entire cloud system was surely over a hundred miles across.

It could be above Doriath.  
Luthien wished she hadn't given her seeing-glass to Hundar.  
Soon enough, Hundar showed up with his people however, along the southbound road,  
met Aeglirel on the crossing, asked for Luthien and came to council.

He gave the seeing-glass back.

"Thank you. Without your warning and your helpful glass,  
I'd have been a dead man, and my village a place of dead people."

During their morning council with Brandir, messages also came from east.

"Before their advance forced us away from the river,  
we saw many orcs re-embarking," told the messenger.

"They'll make for the bridge downstream of Esgalduin, and maybe try to land in Doriath", Luthien concluded.

"For the moment, that relieves us of the greatest threat," Brandir sighed.  
"Later on, it can cost us dearly, especially if they get the bridge," added Rhunenor.

"They won't get it. My father values that bridge greatly.  
It's his way of controlling Sirion and his safe road towards Nargothrond."

"Can your father deal with such an enemy?", asked Brandir.

"I wish I could say yes... I'll say I cannot know. Numbers such as these are no surprise to him. Armies have marched before and the amount of men that Doriath can arm, nor their skill or speed, none of it has dropped."

"What of north?"

"They crossed by a makeshift bridge. Another army of perhaps ten thousand.  
They spread out and set fire to the edges of the forest," Hundar explained.

"So there's twenty thousand orcs on move around us?", Brandir sighed. "What of west?"

"No word from our people," Aeglirel explained.

"They better send word soon, or I'll think they got enchanted," Braspen grumbled.

"In addition to our folks, a heavily armed lone elf rode west.  
He bore reseblance to that anarchist... to the smith of Nan Elmoth.  
I didn't ask his name, he was riled enough by us stopping and questioning him.  
I said he was welcome to turn back if he wanted.  
Do any of you folks have crossbows with metal bolts?  
He had one."

"No," said Brandir.

"Does anyone else in this forest have crossbows and metal bolts," Aeglirel didn't give up.

"I'm asking because of balrogs. In our current state, we are fairly helpless against them."

"I think the closest place to find them is in Thingol's armories," Braspen said.  
"Any catapults that launch stones?" Rhunenor inquired.  
"No," said Brandir.

"Catapults are easy. We can build them fast," Luthien said. "I know some practical models by heart. Do you guys have saws, drills and rope?"

After discussing what a saw was, it turned out the Haladin were just as shoddily equipped as Beren's people.  
No saws. Drills made of bone and stone! The rope was a joke, but now the joke wasn't even funny.

"That rope won't even hang us, if they take us captive," Aeglirel was enthusiastic.  
"How do they live like this?", hushed Braspen to Rhunenor.

"I conclude that we can't make bread out of shit, we need saws and proper rope," the older captain said out loud.

"Aeglirel, go and find the merchants who came with us. Even their wagon repair tools will help! If they've bolted home, find out which way, follow them and requisition their wagons. We need saws, nails, threaded bar and nuts, and proper elvish rope. Don't use violence but words, leave them horse enough to ride home safely, write each of them bonds of debt, here's my seal. They'll appreciate getting home faster. Likewise bring their strong alcohol and excess medical supplies."

Rhunenor handed Aeglirel his seal. "Take this too," Luthien said.

"I definitely will not need a royal seal," she shied back.

"You'll get it however, to have their unconditional acceptance," Luthien said.

The lieutenant thanked and ran to track the merchant-elves.

* * *

She was fortunate to have left with high morale, as the next thing Braspen and Rhunenor discovered was an acute lack of stones.

"We are going to delay armies of Morgoth with a company... in a place that has no rope and no stones either."

Saying that back in Doriath, in the king's armories, they'd have laughed a hearty laughter.

* * *

Luthien made a mental checklist of the really tricky weapons.

"Burned lime?", she asked.  
"No," came the reply from Brandir.  
"Sulfur?" - "What is sulfur?", was his reply.  
"Flaxseed oil?" - "No."  
"Canola or safflower oil?" - "No."  
"Butter?" - "Enough to put on bread."

"A quantity of bones or bone ashes, and urine?"  
"Um... no, we don't keep such things. What on earth would you do with those?"

"We'd boil the bones in urine without air, to get a substance that fumes when exposed to air.  
It smells foul, is dangerous to anyone who breathes it, and self-ignites really fast."

Brandir was amazed while Luthien despaired.

"How about sunflower oil?"  
"We have some barrels."  
"Is it refined?"  
"If we knew how to refine it, maybe it would be."

She wanted a cupful to test. The quality was awful. They heated it on a metal pan over a fire, while another pan held an identical amount of water. Luthien counted how long water took to start boiling, and from this got the rate of temperature change.

Rhunenor regularly moved a torch above the oil. When the oil finally ignited, Luthien subtracted one count from the other, made some more calculations and suggested the flashpoint was too high. "It's a mixture of oil and strange goo", she sighed. "I don't know how they produce it, but they do it differently."

"Aything that can be pressurized?" - "No."  
"Do you guys brew alcohol at all?" - "We do."  
"What's the strongest spirit that you have in quantity?" - "Wine."  
"You don't distill it?" - "No."

That's when Aeglirel came back with four wagons of supplies. The merchants hadn't departed yet.

Luthien was tempted to propose poisons, but refrained. Instead she went to granaries and storehouses. Surely these people had something that could be used... even if nobody knew what it was.

* * *

She came back with a cup of dried berries, which she gave to Rhunenor.  
The easterling elf ought know the plants of his homeland.

"Dried pepperbush berries? Growing here?"  
"Yes, and they apparently have a full barrel."

"Ground or whole?"  
"Whole."

"Do they have grinding tools."  
"They do."

They went to Brandir.

"Chief, we finally discovered a useful item in your armories. Check these out."  
"They weren't in the armories, but in granaries," Luthien corrected.

Brandir asked to know what could be done with these.  
He ate some and Luthien looked in wonder.  
He said they were pepperbush alright.

"I thought this plant was extinct in all of Beleriand.  
These berries have an ingredient that's highly unpleasant for elves  
and totally unbearable for orcs, which is why Morgoth released a disease  
and wiped that species of plant off earth."

"It doesn't seem to have reached here. They grow nice and fine.  
We use them to concal the lessened taste of dried and salted meat."

"Grind them to a fine powder, dilute them with five weights of moist sand for one weight of pepper, and distribute that to troops in bags. When close combat is nearing, they should throw it at enemy ranks. On open ground, they can use slings too. Also tell them to refrain from using it near us, or they'll render us much less effective. If I ate them like you, I'd be vomiting soon, and if I got their powder in my eyes, I would cry like a child."

"Strange are the ways of nature."

Next they broke the disappointing news of no stones to Aeglirel.

"Now that we have saws, we can shoot them with wooden logs," she proposed.

Rhunenor looked uneasy.

"Wooden logs and pepper-sand," Braspen corrected.

"I admit, it could be better than nothing."


	35. Battle for crossroads

The intersections of the roads became their improvised display of Amon Obel's questionable military might.

People came and people went, south was the way to escape. People looked however... and some considered. Others dared to ask. Once in a while, some who passed asked the question.

"Do you guys intend to fight them?"  
"We do, but we don't intend to win, just to delay them - badly enough for Thingol's troops to reach here."

"Why should an elf-king send his troops to die for us?"  
"Why should Luthien stay here then, if he won't?"

"Perhaps you need more hands?"  
"Absolutely. What craft are you trained in?"

"I can shoot a bow and wield a spear. I can also work wood."  
"Would you care to assist the elves in making these war machines?"

"If they instruct me, yes. I have nowhere to go and I might as well try to stay."  
"Thank you. If more people decide like you, maybe we'll get ready."

* * *

Luthien had given up sawing before her hands broke out with blisters.

She didn't want to get anywhere near the pepper preparation, so she went to check the weather from the hilltop.  
To her surprise, two elves of the court who'd accompanied her delegation, already stood here and did the same.

"Celeborn, Galadriel, I thought you went south already."  
"I advised her to, but she wants to wait."

"I do," Galadriel confirmed. "I feel as if I have something to accomplish, but I cannot find it. That storm draws my curiosity, it is coming our way."

Luthien took a look at the storm, and likewise gave her seeing-glass for Galadriel to watch.

"I may be young, but I know enough that storms are not like that. It darkens entire lands."  
"I've seen one. One that always hovers above Angband."

"Then, why should the enemy send a storm, if they try to burn the forest?", Galadriel asked.  
"Maybe it's a dry storm and will fan the flames," Luthien speculated.

"It doesn't look like a dry storm, by the amount of clouds, it's packed with water. I should be seeing stripes of rain leaving the cloud system, but I don't."

* * *

They talked of what could be done, and found an occupation for themselves in mixing medicines.  
When battle would break out, it would be too late to mix antiseptics or coagulants,  
to make pressure bandages, crutches or stretchers.

Yet all of these would be needed.

No matter how it went, blood would be spilled by the bucket. If one could stop the bloodflow, the wounded had a chance. If one could prevent infection, their chance renewed itself. If one could move the wounded, or better yet, if they could move themselves, they might not be caught and killed. Even chasing the limping wounded would consume the enemy's reserves of strength.

Thus Luthien, Galadriel and Celeborn enlisted people to prepare for treating wounds and burns, concussions and broken bones.

Meanwhile the proper warriors Rhunenor, Braspen and Aeglirel prepared for inflicting those, rather than get them inflicted upon themselves.

Each unit of warriors should have something at hand to help their wounded, and further back along their lines, people skilled at identifying and treating should stay ready. It was a system that needed setting up, just like systems of destroying.

* * *

At one point, Aeglirel came however to ask for Luthien.

"We need your help and your seeing-glass to adjust our aim."

They climbed back to the hilltop. The storm had approached and weather was darkening soon. This was the last chance to do it efficiently. Luthien observed and commented while Aeglirel signaled using two bright-colored flags.

Far below them in a clearing amid forest, Rhunenor, two elves and tens of humans tested and marked the catapults.

"Overshot by fifty!"  
"Overshot by thirty, too far west!"  
"Undershot, I cannot tell the distance."  
"Now it fell on road!"

The process of marking down the proper firing tension for the proper weight was arduous. Logs came in differing weight and they had set up scales to sort them. Heavier logs went to bigger catapults, smaller ones to small ones. Since mathematics consumed so much time, each catapult had only two courses in their menu. The "main course" had one flavour of bigger logs, and the "dessert" was smaller logs measured by pile.

They practised with unpeppered sand too, but gave up. Firing sand in an arc above forest was a hopeless affair in wind.

How fast the enemy could advance and how fast the defense line could retreat, was another matter. Braspen went through excercizes with the barricade crews, knowing full well how first-time warriors would act when push would come to shove.

Whatever came of it, Rhunenor wanted some properties of an ambush. There had to be sources of fire that the enemy couldn't immediately locate and suppress. The only seasoned warriors were Luthien's guards, and so they took the job of ambushing the enemy column from the rear.

Intelligence made it clear that the eastern column would reach them first, so everything was set up that way. Nothing was visible in the west to a distance of a two hour ride. This too was a gamble. If by chance or command, the eastern army would stop and anything attack them from the west by surprise, they'd be figuratively stabbed in the back.

* * *

Aeglirel was watching the western road when an already familiar horseman came along it.  
No longer speeding, Eöl rode lazily and stopped his horse in doubt.  
Aeglirel waved him to approach from distance.

"What are you doing? That ground is hammered quite soft."  
"We measured out an artillery strike. Come, before they blow their horn and start again. We're shooting wooden logs."

"You said I could turn back."  
"And you did. What did you see?"

"I thought you needed to know. I rested while your spies went speeding past me. When I saw them, all five were burnt to death."

Her stomach turned, for two of the reconnaisance men had been Aeglirel's long-time friends.

"Burned?"  
"Yes, burned without trying to fight or even escape. A dragon-spell, I'd say."  
"Did you see a dragon?"  
"I arrived at night... all I saw was fires, but no dragon. I listened to ground and heard heavy sounds, however. They seemed to be departing. Then I had to make a dash, for fire threatened to cut my retreat way off."

"What is your plan now?"

"To turn south and get the hell out of here. My horse needs rest, though. I plan to hide it in the forest and expect that none will try to take it. In return, perhaps I'll flee south after emptying my quivers at something suitable. But not a dragon, no way."

When Aeglirel brought news of a dragon to Luthien, she remembered.

"I think we're living through the events that Finrod saw in dreams."

"What? What did Finrod see?", Galadriel immediately asked.  
"Finrod saw a dragon going to Nargothrond with an army, and has made plans to defeat it."

"You don't defeat dragons just like that."  
"He has much in terms of industry that Doriath is lacking. If the world cared about balancing the scales, Finrod would be half a counterweight to Mairon. I don't know if the world cares, however."

Galadriel regretted not visiting his elder brother for a hundred years. She had a good excuse, though. Falling in love with Celeborn had not been idle time, and getting their marriage approved had required going into politics.

It was evening when the column from the east reached near the crossings. The road was narrow and the forest thick. The fires of the balrogs raced ahead, competing with the wisps of storm-cloud. Luthien observed them from the hilltop where Aeglirel operated their signal exchange. Flags were replaced with mirrored lamps on long sticks, as it was dark. In thickening rain and fog, lamps would stop shining however, so a squad of horsemen and two horn-blowers were nearby.

Rhunenor and Braspen had their own lamp-crews ready. Rhunenor was down north at the battery of heavy catapults. These couldn't move but turned, and their shot reached both the western and the eastern approach. Celeborn had gone with Luthien's guards to organize an ambush deep behind the stretch of road that Rhunenor had practised shooting on.

Their liaison with humans, on the lines of barricades on the road, commanding the crew of mobile catapults, was Braspen - wearing dwarvish glasses and face-mask just in case he'd get his dose of unintended pepper-sand.

* * *

It was orcish berserkers that came first, running past balrogs in thin columns, ignoring smoke and heat.

Why orcs berserked, was not a clear-cut question with a steady answer.

Sometimed it seemed that their commanders drove them into frenzy. Sometimes however, it seemed a deliberate choice. If an orc felt his life was coming to an end, it was honorable to die as a berserker, rather than get backstabbed and eaten by fellow orcs.

Before doing it, they doped themselves with potions that gave strength and took away fear. Since tomorrow wasn't for them, their armor was light, however.

Just before the barricade, the road was covered in pine logs, placed at an interval of about one foot.

Orcs knew this kind of obstacle. Instead of stepping between trunks, they would run on top of them. The trunks would roll, but most could keep their balance. Thus they did, and with cries of pain the first of them fell down, for some tree-trunks had random nails. Nails were a rare luxury however, and only the first barricade had this feature. The second barricades had to allow their defenders to man them easier, if the first one should fall.

At the moment the first orcs fell, arrow-fire from the barricades was started.

Orcs came in numbers, though, and raised their flimsy shields - not much, but good enough to stop a human bowman. When they reached to halfway through the course of obstacles, pine-trunks changed to beech-tops - material that needed wading through, yet didn't offer cover.

They made their best effort to trample the beeches down, when a tripwire was loosed and a rope barricade of fishing nets sprang up before them. Those who spent their time cutting it down, were quickly shot down.

That was when the sand was slung, both from barricades and using catapults up far. Despite their doping, battle cries now mixed with yelps of pain. Unable to force through, they crowded up and stumbled. Some threw their spears and fell back, others sought cover to fire bows, but cover wasn't to be found. This was war and mercy wasn't shown. The defenders shot what moved.

* * *

Then came balrogs, bearing shields and hooks - the barricade was obviously in their minds. Before them came their cloud of smoke. Wind became a hot blast from a furnace and defenders spashed each other from buckets. In short term, having your clothes wet would protect.

Behind the balrogs, the bulk of orcs were marching, chanting something in their language.

"Reload with stones!" - the winders started tensioning the ropes while the precious few stones were loaded.  
"Fire one!" - the barrage went at balrogs, who raised their shields ahead of getting hit.

One shield splintered. One balrog stumbled and regained its balance, hit in shoulder.

"Fire two!" - the second line of catapults discharged their stone-hail.

One balrog bore the brunt of it and fell with shield and hook, but swiftly rose in anger, glowing hotter.

From the hill, the lantern-signal went, informing Rhunenor: "in range". The heavy catapults discharged their logs, curving above forest, hitting balrogs from their side. With massive thumps the tree-trunks landed on the monsters, who hadn't been expecting an attack from side. Five balrogs were there, and three went down, while spears and arrows came on them like flails on grain. They feared no arrow, though, and wooden spears were jokes. The launcher of the logs was a menace, though, and would be gotten.

The balrogs' chief used his powers of the mind to send the orc-host branching northward towards Rhunenor. The battery had footsoldiers in the forest, though, ready to pull down half-felled trees into an unpassable mess that could be held in check.

At that moment, rain came down from clouds. Five hundred steps back to west, another rain of elvish arrows fell from south on the orc-host turning north. Commanded to head north, would they follow command or self-preservation? Some acted this way, some that. Some went to northward forest in search of the battery, some into southward forest to repel the ambush. Behind the balrogs, a temporary vacuum formed.

"Stones ran out, using logs!"

Rhunenor had likewise sent his main course, and fired smaller logs now. They pelted balrogs well, but two held shields above and lashed at barricades with whips, setting them on fire and repelling fighters. Two jumped forward over the barricade.

Haladin warriors abandoned their position and ran backwards, forming a jammed crowd. Braspen laboured with the catapult crews to get their machines through gate-holes before obstacles were pulled there - behind the next line of defense.

Four catapults fell to balrogs, who made clean work of anyone who lingered near. The fifth and final balrog pushed the first barricade into a heap and cleared the road. Then it seized its head with both hands and loosed a cry of pain and rage.

Eöl rewound his crossbow in darkness, hoping he'd be unseen. If he could blind the balrogs, yes, that would have effect. The balrogs were Maiar, however, and they could see the unseen and feel thoughts. Eöl's mind was far too hot for them to miss, and when he raised his weapon to shoot another eye out, two balrogs with fire-swords rushed in great leaps towards him.

Panicking, he shot one in the neck and ran like a bat from hell.  
The neck-wound was insignificant and chasing an elf through forest wasn't fruitful.  
The two balrogs turned and checked their comrade who assured he'd heal.  
Then they all turned forward again.

By now, however, rain was falling in a heavy constant stream, and fire-demons' fire started cooling down. Undeterred by log-hail, they jumped the second barricade, kicked humans off their path and broke more catapults. Braspen had only five machines left and Rhunenor could barely shoot there.

Behind, the orc-host had driven Luthien's guards far into forest and was advancing quickly on the cleared road now.

* * *

"Our folk are losing," said Luthien, "I could perhaps temporarily disorient them if I went."  
"Don't," said Galadriel. "Have a look at these clouds."

Sunlight was gone, but rain was warm and heavy, falling in gusts almost horizontally... air seemed cooling fast. A front of weather came above them, just as a front of creatures fought below it.

"Clouds are helping with rain, but not enough."

"Yes, that is what I mean. We can make them help us. This storm isn't a natural occurrence, this is Melian's work. She is far, however, and cannot call down strikes. We need to start doing that."

Galadriel drew a line upwards from ground, thinking of a point source and a path to high above. Then she said a series of spells describing heat funneling up and gaining rotation, and rotating air forming a wall against colder air around it. To her surprise, the conveyor started work. A faint line stayed, waving left and right now, twirling up to clouds.

"You're trying to create a landspout?"

"I am creating a landspout, help me quickly now!"

Luthien said a different spell and imagined how a landspout grew, drawing warm air from near the ground, flinging it up high, creating low pressure beneath the main cloud, pulling it down to earth. The shape of weather changed... instead of Galadriel's line, a funnel started descending.

The thin wisp was now a gray column almost touching ground, and soldiers on the ground noticed it with alarm. It turned before the orc-host where the second barricade had been. Galadriel tried different words while Luthien kept the landspout growing. Whatever heat the balrogs were producing, was incredibly conductive to its growth. Leaves and twigs went upwards, arrows changed their course. Spears flew off their path now, beech-tops pushed aside came back, dancing on the road. The orc-host stoppped in fear.

"I won't go into that!"  
"That is not our sorcery!"  
"Master, shut that down!"

The balrog cast a counter-spell and went to physically unmake the landspout with his shield, but misunderstood its nature - his heat only helped it grow. Then, without Luthien or Galadriel doing anything, a connection formed and lightning struck the balrog from the ground and lept up into cloud along the landspout.

The balrog stumbled but still grappled with the whirlwind, which quickly grew to a tornado and threw the fire-demon down. Its noise now reminded of crashing waves and metal sheet tumbling slowly. There was devastating power in its motion.

Orcs started fleeing back eastward, crashing into each other and trampling one another. Elves and humans abandoned their war and fled west and south. Rhunenor's artillery crew escaped north. The remaining four balrogs found themselves behind their opponents' barricades, but without any troops, without anyone to challenge them, and the tornado growing ever faster and more violent.

Together they cast their spells against this enemy power, but a balrog cannot cool down anything. The tornado was self-sustaining now and needed nobody to command it. It sought out the fire-demons on its own guidance. Galadriel and Luthien had simply painted the target for Melian's energy.

* * *

On that hour, when five balrogs fought a tornado at Amon Obel, the veil of Doriath dissolved and dropped. Orc-troops along the west of Mindeb found themselves looking eye to eye at elvish lines on the east bank. Thingol's captains ordered fire to be opened and in minutes, Boldog's men retreated from the riverside, leaving hundreds fallen.

Below Amon Obel, forest was folding down on a path half a kilometer wide. Entire trees flew as arrows. Balrogs stumbled and fell, wind threw them down and up again, they lost focus and stopped using their spells, instead holding on, calling for Glaurung to help.

Glaurung noticed.

Glaurung didn't have the power to unmake a completed storm. His word of command was feared and known. He could speak to anyone he knew across a distance vast and empty, he could take over minds and force people act against their will... but no, Glaurung couldn't undo what Melian had started.

Also, the dragon had no time!

Glaurung gave the command for balrogs in the forest to abandon their position, abandon their entire army, and to run through Brethil to its western side. It also tried to force the orc-host to follow them, but orcs identified correctly - a wind that slapped down balrogs, would kill them by the thousands. They ran the other way. Soaked, scared, demoralized and with their supplies in disarray, they would be a burden on the march to Nargothrond.

There was one, however, who the dragon wanted to chat with. He was up north and unharmed, patiently taking over what he didn't burn.

* * *

"Boldog!"  
"I hear!"

"Get out of the forest! Back north and follow me!"  
"Respectfully, your command contravenes Melkor's word."

"You are getting killed in there. That storm is Melian or at least her power given form, and Thingol's army isn't far behind."  
"Then I shall get killed here, doing what I was to. Maybe I can do it better than you, even."

"Your comrades in the east folded, your men abandon Mindeb as we speak."  
"I don't care the slightest! It's many days from Mindeb to this place, tell me of the bridge instead."

* * *

It rained. Visibility on Sirion was piss-poor.

"Should we really barge on blindly, just like that?", one balrog asked the other.

Then rattling came from upstream. The barge coming after them had run into a thick metal chain, and they ran into it soon also.  
The chains formed a triangular trap, pushing the barges towards the center of Sirion.  
Balrogs understood this had to stop and tried to cut them, hacking with their great swords.  
The chains were solid steel and excellent in quality, however.

They tried pulling barges back upstream, but the chains were also slimy, having slept in mud.  
More barges came from upstream unaware of the jam.

Sirion was pushing their barges into a pile, forming a triangular island at the river's deepest center.  
They commanded everyone to steer towards Brethil, but could themselves no longer do so.

When the bridge rose out of rain and mist before them, it was less of a bridge...

...and more of a stone fortress across the river.

Teams of elf-warriors were ready at repeater crossbows.  
Two to spin a flywheel like a smith's apprentice treads the bellows,  
one reloader bearing canisters of bolts, one to aim and trigger,  
and a squad commander who'd replace anyone who fell.

The leader of the balrogs tried to raise a smoke-screen. It darkened, but too slow! Elves yelled commands, all crews opened fire... from ten crossbows feeding arrows every other second, there came a steady stream of metal five arrows per second.

These weren't ordinary arrows either. They weighed a kilogram, were hard as drillpoints, sharp as needles, and flew at half of sound's velocity.

Balrogs were great creatures and their armor thick, but unprotected against an arrow-point with the power of an axe-strike. They got off one shot from their fire-catapult and torched the stone bridge in the middle. The elf-crews stationed there were thickly dressed, and fired back in rage, before jumping into Sirion.

Five elves died on the bridge. One elf drowned in the river. Four balrogs were slain by metal arrows. One ran off, trampling orcs down on their barges. Orcs ran upstream from the death-trap, landing in Brethil without supplies. Around the bridge-head, some ran into lines of elves, and the Sindar knew how to fight in forest.  
Very few of these orcs arrived anywhere ever again.

The four two-eyed balrogs and one with an eyepatch from Amon Obel, reached Glaurung's army and became its rear guard.

Ten balrogs from Angband went with Glaurung too.


	36. Boldog's run

When the storm calmed, the aftermath was quite terrible.

On the field of battle, the wounded had little chance.

Elves and humans were more lucky, as both had customs of carrying their wounded to safety. Orcs had left their fallen comrades, who were now found... flung apart, hanging somehow in treetops, or utterly deformed so that only their kind could be established. However, any elf or human who fell without their folk nearby... their fate was likewise. Wind knew nothing of who or why.

Most of Brandir's settlement was razed to ground. The outer wall of treetrunks hammered into ground still stood... partly. Houses close to it were spared. Others became piles of rubble. Log houses fortunately didn't collapse, but logs themselves became dangerous weapons in wind. They flew and pierced through walls.

Arriving back at Amon Obel, everyone searched the rubble. Many were found dead. Elderly people who'd resolved to stay and face their fate... had faced a slaughter only slightly more forgiving than an orc-raid. Half could still be helped. Among adults and children, the toll was low however, and temporarily, war was over. Orcs made no attempt to approach the settlement.

Since nearly every elf knew healing skills of some sort, and Luthien's guards had not borne the onslaught of the tornado, they came back soonest from the east and northern forest. Braspen came from south, having saved one wagon. In the confusion of the storm, it had been difficult to tell which wagon held healing supplies, but he'd half-accidentally picked the right one.

* * *

Brandir was not among survivors. He'd been involved behind the barricades, and was found under a treetrunk felled by wind. Considering the message he had sent by runner, he knew what could happen.

"I send my thanks, though this will cost us dearly."

Nothing more he'd sent.

Luthien didn't know if the chief had known how dearly it would cost, but was a little calmer because of this. Having word from the dead about the circumstances of their death, was unusual and reassuring. Galadriel had severe trouble with her conscience, however.

"I should have started it further away," she said in many conversations.

"You didn't know how powerful it would become, or where it would go," Luthien countered.

"This is where you err. I knew the wind was easterly. I knew it grows on heat and tends to follow that. I've studied weather. My words were my own making, but the principles I learnt from Melian and knew them well - she knew I could start this... which could be the reason she sent the ingredients... and I knew I should start it when I recognized the moment... but I acted on impulse. I gave no thought to _where_ I started total destruction."

"You did it where the fighting happened, which cannot be totally wrong. We cannot really determine if your move was right, after the fact. We cannot even know if it would have lasted, if the balrog hadn't been so stupid, as to rush right in."

Either way, it was too late. They helped who could be helped.

* * *

The Haladin didn't bury their dead, but burned them instead, along with memorable personal items.

They believed the dead might need something to discover their identity and continue their path where they went.

This time, that was doubtful - so many had died that all were burnt together, no individual fire was lit for any person. If afterlife would go as the Haladin believed, orcs, humans and nineteen elvish guards too... would have to tell themselves apart on the other side with very little clues.

Elves made no fuss about how bodies would be dispatched, as long was it was done with respect. They expected to meet their comrades in the halls of Mandos far in future, and to continue there. Being immortal, even if their bodies were not, death was not a thing that weighed upon their mind during life, and when it came... it came. No specific customs existed do deal with it, which probably made it harder. Death was rare.

Each would find their own way and everyone was gloomy. Some cried, some worked themselves to exhaustion with the wounded.

* * *

In south and likewise north, war had only started.

Thingol's troops advanced through forest carelessly and quick, using roads.

Deliberations over strategy suggested that was needed. If they combed the forest in totality, orcs would escape in large numbers towards north, where Luthien was known to be. If they went fast along roads, orcs would stay off those, and likewise stay from Amon Obel.

Soon the situation formed where retreating humans took the curbside southward, while rows of elvish horsemen went fast north. After counting a five hundred horses and seeing the elf-king among his soldiers, followed by a row of footmen that had no visible end, humans reconsidered.

Perhaps they had no need to leave their home indefinitely. Holding their own councils, they mostly decided to turn around, unless one had relatives living nearby.

* * *

Boldog continued his task and sent wolves and wolf-riders to make sense of the situation.

Learning that Amon Obel was mostly destroyed and dedicated to keeping the wounded alive, and that Luthien was still there, he cast his dice and asked his lieutenants if they wanted long life or glory. The vote came down in favour of glory. Orc-life was not much fun without it.

Thus, just as fast as Thingol came from south, Boldog's forces stopped their pillage, formed a proper army and arrived from north.

The second battle of Amon Obel started in bright sunshine about fifty hours after the first. Aeglirel, being a member of the signal corps, got word first. She already knew of Thingol's forces coming, and made a calculation quickly while walking to Luthien's tent.

"Thingol is fifty thousand steps away in south. Boldog is forty thousand in north. Both advance guards move at similar speed. We need to act."

Luthien was away with healers. Rhunenor instantly gave the command to start building new barricades.

"One messenger to Thingol with a situation update. Clear the southbound way and prepare to light the north on fire. Do we still have sand?"

Nobody knew where the sand was. Arrows were collected from the battlefield. Against orcs, war-machines weren't worth their making, but shields were improvised. If one agreed to take up orcish weapons, no shortage of arms existed, and humans took these crude blades willingly.

Elves however cut and fletched new arrows at a frantic pace. Orcish arrows, short and crude, were useless for their bows. Finding enough arrowheads was impossible, so improvising started, especially when one guard found a box of nails. The consensus among elves was however - if Thingol wouldn't arrive in time, this would be no happy party for archers, but a deadly melee. Already mace were made of rope, wooden sticks and blocks and nails - and two-part sticks bound up to strike around a shield.

Thingol quickened pace when horsemen came with news of Boldog.  
Boldog added speed when wolf-riders came with news of Thingol.

* * *

On that day, Rog was personally on watch near the two machines.

One machine they always wound up in the morning, the other in the evening. At no time should both be stopped together.

Tremors were frequent these days, and the records noisy. If anything truly significant should happen however, a resonating bell would recognize three pulses at this interval and make a tiny chime. That chime came now, and Rog went to the needle. As paper ticked by underneath it, the needle had drawn three pulses. And, the pulses were sharp, with no aftershocks and no long grinding.

It was Aranwe's turn to spend the night up the tower when he spotted the fire. Faint at first, it teased his eyes with the possibility of a false alarm. Then however, Rog's men threw oil onto the brushwood and flames leapt high as a tree.

Aranwe rang the bell and hurried down the tower.

* * *

A sleepy Turgon awaited in the council-hall when Glorfindel rushed in. Pengolodh came next, for the machines were handiwork of his. Fresh horses were sent for Rog, who'd by now have sent the paper roll downhill. Then came Duilin, Aredhel, Ecthelion and Galdor.

"Thirty minutes are up, we cannot hold for longer."

Rog wouldn't make it in time. Nobody had been able to reach Egalmoth or Salgant.

"Aranwe, please tell everyone first-hand."  
"I saw the fire-signal exactly as agreed. There is no doubt that Rog received something."

Turgon spoke.

"I won't start full mobilization until Rog arrives with paper, but my messengers are already rousing higher officers and leaders of the healers. When Rog gives confirmation, we will ride out soon. Stores are ready. Horses and wagons will be abandoned near the mountain-tunnel, wherefrom we'll proceed on foot. Estimated time to Nargothrond is four days running, more if we slow down. As soon as horses can be found on plains, we start ferrying our advance guard forward with their help."

Rog burst in, breathing heavily.

"Here's the rolls. This is no mistake."

Everyone could plainly see the difference from dragon-tremors. Pengolodh showed a recording of a real earthquake too, one which had troubled sleepers months ago. This was nothing like them. The spikes grew fast and fell to nothing. Timing was precise. This was Finrod.

"Signal him back!"

Aranwe ran to the tower-top and using the morning sun, flashed his mirror ten times at the mountain. Ten flashes came back soon. Then Finrod's seismograph-needle painted a pulse... and a pulse... and a third one. Having sent the signal, Finrod personally watched his system work.

"Gondolin will come. Take my watch, please."

* * *

"Set fire to the barricade!"

At Rhunenor's order, the piles of trees were lit. Slowly the fire spread, from brush to branch, from branch to trunk. Boldog's men came faster. Of double riders, one jumped off the stocky warg, climbing on the obstacles with knife and hook and rope.

They shot, and orcs shot back from warg-top, circling before their obstacle while orcish sappers tried get a grip. They hooked a rope, ran back and struck a pole in ground, then threw its top-rope to some warg-crew, who bound it to the harness of their beast and pulled. The barricade was anchored well, but some of it came loose. Elvish guards took the opening under their care.

Seeing Thingol's men deterred the orcs at first. Then they realized there were only fifty! They pushed their wolves to jump and jump they did, onto elvish spears and into the opening. The first fell down, their rider helpless and doomed, the tenth fell just as surely, but the twentieth got through. Fighting broke onto the littered clearing left by the tornado.

"We are useless here, let's go," said Aeglirel and joined the battle with her signal crew.

Humans fought without central command, but fight they did. New berries had been picked and mixed to pepper sand, new shields were made and orcish weapons found... many a warg-rider stopped with a confused expression, seeing their own kin's spear in their stomach.

They were outnumbered, however. Boldog's advance guard of five hundred riders were too much. Half of Luthien's guards were dismounted already, and soon it was evident - delay would be their death. Rhunenor blew his horn and everyone fell back towards the southbound road, riders protecting infantry while they still could. At the same time, the first of Thingol's horsemen reached the clearing. They were lightly armoured and arrived at great speed, riding-wolves were heavy and had jaws.

No more than fast-moving confusion occured at first - force was equal, losses heavy.

* * *

Boldog's infantry passed through the northern barricade and blew their horn-commands. These orcs didn't rush to battle, but raised their shields and waited. More and more came running, massing up behind them, spreading out.

Luthien was walking south along the forest road with one guard at her side, when Thingol stopped and dismounted. The king's bodyguards stopped, but other riders flew past them.

"Are you unharmed?"  
"I am, but please hurry, or others won't be. When I came away, we were losing the clearing."  
"I shall. Show me the situation, please."

She visualized the battlefield and whispered her memory of it to Thingol. Taking in the image seen from the hilltop and piecing it together with things on ground, Thingol stood for a while.

"Thank you, I think I know where I'm going!"  
"Come back unharmed!"  
"I will."

He rode forward and shouted instructions for deployment to go both ways. One bodyguard turned back while another pushed his horse to speed ahead.

* * *

A tense division had arisen on the clearing. The northern side was firmly under Boldog's hand, his men were stepping forth slowly as their backside was replenished. The commander orc was nowhere to be seen.

Cavalry had disengaged and waited in lines, treating their wounded and staring down each other. The southern side had elves mirroring the build-up, but a significant number of them were running off left, where sounds of battle told of struggle for the hill-foot. Aeglirel's team coming downhill had found orcs coming uphill and summoned help.

Thingol stopped to take the wind direction and turned left. Joining the fight with his guards, they took the hill-foot without contest. For a moment there came peace. He dismounted and they ran upwards, raising signal flags, and the whole elvish force started stepping clockwise to the left. Sun would be against them, but the wind behind, and the hill was far too useful to let out of hands. He quickly took account of troop arrival rates. Elvish infantry was coming in slower.

"Blow for double speed!"

The horn-blow went and was repeated along the road. Sindarin troops started frantically running. Orcs saw it and blew their horns too, scampering past the burning barricade faster and faster. Another orcish horn-blow echoed back from north.

"Boldog is calling to speed up the rear guard, his trolls aren't fast enough," translated Beleg.  
"They cannot. They won't make it here, no matter what he does," Thingol replied.

Then a crowd of orcish riders burst onto the clearing, carrying flags of command. Gazes turned and instructions moved in ranks. To counter the elves moving clockwise, Boldog's troops started a counter-clockwise movement, but it was measured. A crier rode forth and roared:

"Let the elvish king come forth, and blood might not be shed!"

"Damn the bastard, he desperately wants his trolls. I think I won't", said Thingol.

"What!? Who is that clown? Shall we stop him?", Beleg pointed downwards.

Thingol took stock of the situation.  
Another man was walking forward from the ranks. Slowly. Tentatively.  
Hushes of puzzlement moved among the troops.

"Let him."

Thingol raised the rarely-used flag-signal "taken into account", hoping orcs wouldn't decipher that.  
It also helped that Doriathrin elves had a separate signal corps.  
Their flags weren't always where their leader was.  
Hushing calmed a bit.

An orc dismounted from his beast and walked forth too, bearing an iron spear.  
Tall was he and yet thick in build, covered in heavy plate-mail.  
His shield was thick wood covered in plate.  
On his belt were chain-mace and a spare axe too.

"Master, are you sure? The elf-king might be dangerous!"

"Shut up, and if I die, use the time I bought you - I will not, however!"

The elf who walked forward was in mismatch.  
Black armor, silver helmet and shield.  
His helmet covered all but eyes.  
A longsword hung by his side.

Soon everyone behind him understood, though.  
Concealed behind the large shield he'd grabbed from a Sindarin pikeman, Eöl carried a loaded crossbow.

"Does he have some personal grudge with Boldog?", Thingol hushed to Beleg.  
"I'm not sure of their quarrel, I think it related to the sacking of Nan Elmoth," Beleg whispered back.

"I feel embarrassed," the king admitted.  
"Don't", the captain replied. "He knows what he is doing, and knows we know."

* * *

They reached a distance of fifty steps, at which point Eöl felt he might be recognized.  
Saying nothing, he swiftly dropped his shield, aimed and shot.  
The bolt hit Boldog's exposed thigh.

The orc-chief stumbled, roared orders and his wolf-riders raced forth, while Eöl now ran, without bow or shield, at Boldog, drawing Anglachel.

He ran faster than the orcs could make it there. Boldog raised his shield to parry, but Eöl crashed into him, throwing the orc-chief off his feet. Eöl tumbled and rose instantly, turned and struck the rising orc in his back. Plate mail yielded before the unconventional blade, which Eöl abandoned there - a human youth named Túrin would later find it among the rubble. Boldog drew his last breath while his assassin ran towards elvish ranks, warg-riders behind.

They tried to cut him down, but he feigned falling and ran sideways. Elvish archers opened fire, orc-ranks roared and came.

"This is not proper military engagement," Thingol said, "but let's make do, wind's behind us, blow for fire."

The blow echoed and archers jumped aside to form corridors for siphoners.  
Pins were pulled, valves turned and nozzles pointed.  
Dark liquid flew at pressure, fuming, smoking.  
Then it went aflame.

Doriathrin fighters did their usual open-ground routine. They retreated as long as they could, firing from bows.  
The orc-host ran squarely at a wall of fire, from which arrows came.

Angered over deceitful killing of their chief, they ran forward still.

Fuel ended, siphoners ran back and proper combat was engaged. In this, the burning orcs did not have much success. After five minutes of raw and deadly melee, orcs stopped going and started falling back, while elves came forward. By the time trolls arrived, the clearing was held by Thingol's army, tending their wounded on a field of death.

Commanders of Boldog's rear guard ordered trolls to pull down trees behind them, and quickly retreated north. Of Boldog's might and glory, memory remained. Of his ten thousand men, five thousand escaped the battle.

Turgon's army met them at the barge-bridge and threw them back again. About a thousand orc-men of Boldog's expedition lived to tell the tales.


	37. Defiance

Finrod stood on the bridge over Narog, watching the last tall ship leave.

In two hours, the docks of Nargothrond would be filled with rubble of stone and gravel - never to open again.  
Many things would never happen again.

The bridge would go down soon.  
He would never walk past friends or lovers looking up or down the valley,  
retelling impressions or making plans for future.

The countryside that fed the city, would definitely go.  
The fields would be abandoned and the orchards burn to ash.

No more sweets or wine, that was bearable.  
No more people, unless there came a miracle.  
That was *not* bearable and hurt.  
Nargothrond was already doomed.

He'd sent warning far and wide, and an endless stream of boats  
were making their way downstream along the river.  
Their choice was fully rational.

To stay and oppose an army built to crush specifically you, was not a smart idea.  
Especially if it was lead by a beast that can tell you fall on your sword, with sure effect.

"Why then, am I demanding it of myself? Why do I put the principle of kind for kind - help for help and hurt for hurt...  
...above my care for Amarie, above good life, above all? Why shall I throw my good life into fire?"

"And other people's lives... if they agree to be thrown - and many will.  
Merely to make a point? Because of defiance?"

Finrod had enjoyed his stay on Arda, he couldn't pretend otherwise.  
He had explored thoroughly, even if more remained to find.  
He had found many acquaintances, friends and allies, though many remained undiscovered.  
That would come to an end.

Because of one stupid dragon intending to come here and meet its end!  
Obeying its senseless lord as if he was... some god. Which he was.  
The senseless idiot among gods who made a mess of it all,  
and diminished others of his kind as well.

That was why.

"Yet he is safe from me.  
I know not the words to say in his presence, and had I known,  
I'd have not shared them with Luthien."

The dream of Angband exploding had started fading,  
but in the depth of his mind, he knew it was possible.  
Words existed somewhere. He didn't know them but should.  
Finrod had discovered many things, but nothing of the Silmarils.

He went to the mountaintop and spoke again with the crews of the two main observation posts, one overlooking the north face, and the other south.

Both shared a common view east and west.  
Both also had powerful tools with curved mirrors to see very far,  
but he warned them - to abandon their post once they saw it and took stock of its army.

He trusted Glaurung couldn't project his word of command that far.

The worst thing about Glaurung was that the dragon could sneak up on any ordinary army,  
cloaked in his bubble of silence - within which he destroyed all messengers.  
It was possible that a mere look at Glaurung through a telescope  
gave the possibility for Glaurung to look back.

A seismograph it couldn't have its word with.

Hourly updates came and told the distance, though estimates depended on what the dragon walked on, and how it did.

* * *

The dragon came at night, rendering telescopes useless.

It also doomed the first defense plan - a driverless machine running on steam,  
moving at the pace of a runner, that could be turned left or right  
from distance, using focused mirror-light.

On top of the steam-powered rover, there was a cylinder of glass  
with a roof-shade above it to reflect back sunshine.

The glass jar was airtight and contained carefully folded black cloth,  
absorbing as much light as could be absorbed.

From the sensor jar ran a thin and flimsy pipe to an actuator cylinder  
that extended or retracted with pressure, and a compensator cylinder  
that responded to ambient temperature, keeping the mechanism tuned.

The actuator steered a fine clockwork detached from the steam engine,  
which steered a stronger clockwork bound to the engine, which drove a valve...  
...and the valve distributed steam to power wheels.

To fight a dragon that had learnt to control people from distance (except some short and stubby people made by a stubborn creator - those the dragon had trouble with to this day)...

...to fight it, one needed a weapon that people controlled from distance, and Finrod had it, at the cost of a good chunk of his treasury.

* * *

It was useless today.

They disarmed the rover.

Having it needlessly waiting near the gate was a risk too great.

Their fire suppression system was autonomous, that he didn't need to worry about.  
As soon as fire broke out, glass bulbs on the ceiling would break.  
The entry hall behind the main gate would have constant heavy rain.

Air was already rigged to flow from inside towards out.  
As long as Narog flowed, their bellows would see to that.  
No trick of mind could switch that off or even adjust it.

* * *

The mechanism to collapse the bridge was of course a decoration, a practical ruse.

Enemy spies needed something to focus their mind on, he had given them that.  
Finrod had begged Celebrimbor and Faldin to waste some work.  
To create the real thing.

It was entirely capable of collapsing the bridge, if given time.  
Time was not given.

From minor tremors of sneaking, the dragon-steps grew to a thundering run.  
The seismograph exceeded its limits and the operator signaled emergency.  
Finrod already waited where he must.

Most kings fought at the front.  
This one fought from the telegraph central, whence a mesh of fine steel wires ran across the city.  
Their telegraph used bells, round dials and simplified Cirth, with half the letters gone.

TC to GATE: COLLAPSE BRIDGE  
GATE to TC: STARTED

The guards sprang into action, spinning the gear reductor.  
Fast they spun the wheel, yet slow the cogs turned.  
Earth started shaking around them.  
Water made waves in glasses, lamps on walls swung wild.

GATE to TC: COMING IN TOO FAST

TC to OBS1: GO  
TC to OBS2: GO

OBS1: AYE  
OBS2: GO

Crews ran upward along stairs towards the abandoned observation posts,  
as Glaurung rushed across the darkened field at Nargothrond's main entry,  
shedding its army instantly from its tracks.

Truly if anyone saw it, they would be scared out of their mind. Balrogs could run a healthy fifty kilometers per hour, but Glaurung, when it made a real effort, could reach one hundred and fifty. A small mountain in size, it could outrun a slower eagle.

Elite orc-troops barely hung to the dragon's spikes. Never in their life had they experienced such a ride... and never would they again.

"It's good we didn't try the rover," Finrod sighed.

"You can't know all things," Gildor said.

The crews of the two observation posts had rather odd instructions.

"Calm yourself.  
Run upstairs.  
Push the trigger in.  
Aim, lock the aim (try not to think too much).  
Run for your life downstairs.  
Once fire starts, go up again and take control of it."

The gate-crew had opposing instructions.

"Panic! Fear! Think aloud of what is coming!  
Think of bringing the bridge down faster."

There was nobody at the gate who knew of the real plan, and the gate itself was locked with a mechanism that took minutes to wind open. So it happened that Glaurung rushed unhindered onto the stone bridge, and firmly snapped Celebrimbor's ruse of a mechanism in half.

The bridge exploded underneath him like a shooting star hitting ground.

* * *

When Glaurung fell, he was merely wounded to his belly.

In a few seconds however, with their triggers pushed, batteries of iron, vinegar and copper awakened weapons on the observation posts, picked up power and resistive wires started glowing, one by one.

Once the rover was deemed unreliable, the main effort of the elf-smith, dwarf and elvenking, and their countless assistants and suppliers, had not been the mechanism to pull the bridge down. It had been finding reliable propellant, ignition and detonators.

They had settled for zinc mixed with sulphur to cast their rockets, batteries of twin metals and acid to give current, high-resistance steel wire to ignite, and crude mechanical compression fuses to explode the warheads.

Glaurung had brought his mind down hard on the gate crew, who were paralyzed.

Rocket launchers however needed nobody and cared for nothing. One after other, the rockets spun up and flung themselves down into the canyon, some missing the dragon, some hitting by chance.

When ten barrels of twenty had emptied, their elvish crews took aim. Upon hitting the dragon, the projectiles flew a good kilometer per second, and the dwarvish blasting-powder burst them then. Glaurung, before losing consciousness, sent his thought to Melkor, but didn't manage to say a word.

Melkor demanded answers, but there was emptyness.

The great dragon lay at the bottom of the canyon, damming Narog with its body,  
consumed by fires of its own and fires of Nargothrond, torn up thoroughly,  
slowly extinguished by the river crawling upwards.

Glaurung's army however, was great and confident.  
Led by fifteen balrogs in addition to the dragon, it marched steadily across the field,  
shaken by the great explosion and its aftermath, but not understanding fully.  
When they reached the canyon, a gruesome sight awaited.

"He's dead."  
"What do we do?"  
"Gothmog is next in command."  
"I won't decide this alone.


	38. Siege

Unable to instantly contact Melkor, the consensus among balrogs was: "Lay siege to Nargothrond, send word to Angband".

One thing differed from ordinary sieges, though - having seen the demise of their dragon commander, the orc-hosts took positions around the canyon-mountain at respectful distance. There was an eerie resemblance in their minds... to the siege by elves of Angband.

It ruffled feathers.

Regardless, they went to the countryside to get their supplies.  
Timber was needed. Excess timber should burn, lest elves sneak up under its cover.  
Food was needed. On this front, Finrod's people got cursed to the bottom of it all.

"What do you mean, there is little livestock?"  
"There is little of it, really."  
"This city housed thousands of elves, even if many fled! There has to be!"  
"There is some, enough for about a few hundred."

"Comb the forest then!"  
"Already doing that. What about the roots and vegetables?"  
"Keep them. In worst case, we might need to eat them."  
"It will require violence, master."  
"Then by violence they shall eat cooked roots, unless they find themselves a better source of nourishment!"  
"Have you considered Glaurung?"  
"WHAT?"

The orc-chief shrunk away from his Balrog commander, fearing for his well-being.

"I don't mean to offend... among my people, it is customary..."

"Glaurung wasn't one of your people, puny vermin! If you care for your people's culinary value, go and fetch the bits and pieces of your special troops. He carried them to the same fate with him. While doing it, remember to wave at the elves."

"Sorry, master, I should have thought ahead."

"For this time, forgiven. Now go and direct them to find heavy timber too, we have enough of flimsy sticks."

The flimsy sticks were quite respectable pine-trunks which the orcs had heaved uphill with quite some effort. And if only the bloody trolls would slouch their way here! Fortunately, among a crowd of twenty thousand orcs, effort could be divided.

The issue of what to eat during a long siege, was a serious issue, though - and surpremely ironic. It was the besieged who were supposed to feel the taste of hunger! What remained to be taken around Nargothrond was insufficient. Had Finrod dispatched all food downstream or stocked it in his fortress?

"If we can't get pork, beef and lamb, we shall eat elf, rat and the butts of our fallen chiefs!"  
"Shut up, Degash, the chief might hear."

The new chief was less forgiving than the previous one who'd got himself killed in Brethil.  
Degash wasn't a strategist, but he didn't like this siege.  
This siege was ass-backward.

* * *

When Salgant and Egalmoth could be found, the army had already left.  
They both offered to go, but Aredhel said she needed advisors too.

One day had passed when Rog's men blinked the mirror in mountains.  
Aranwe again rang the tower-bell.

Rog was off to war, so they sent a messenger down instead.

Pengolodh was present and interpreted the readings.

"Something very bad had happened, that is clear. I fear that in the worst case, Finrod's ammunition stores have exploded. The only thing that leaves me hope is that the first blast is the strongest, and activity continues for nearly a minute after that."

"Send a crow after Turgon, let it try to tell him," was Aredhel's decision. "Also, please have someone climb the mountains. Ask the eagles."

* * *

For Turgon's army, the march was exhausting but uneventful.

Having beaten Boldog's remaining forces at the bridge with little effort, they descended south along the road Glaurung had razed for itself.

Destruction in its wake was great.  
Quartermasters ventured into Brethil to hire horses.  
Some they got, but few - most people had fled southward.

At the crossings of Teiglin they got word that Amon Obel had seen battle,  
Brandir had died and Thingol's men had destroyed the eastward expedition  
and with the assistance of Melian and two elf-witches repelled the attack on Brethil.

Knowing that enemy forces weren't lurking at your back gave confidence.  
They marched faster, and elves could really go quick in need.

By the second day's end, they were on the Guarded Plains.  
The plains were unguarded now - if bodies of elves  
bearing the uniform of Finrod's guards didn't count.

The bad thing was: there were no orc-bodies.

Glaurung's host had gone through the plains at speed, unstopped, like a hot knife goes through butter.  
What little elves had tried to do against him, Glaurung had settled with fire, and powers of his mind.

* * *

On the second day's end, the bridges were assembled too. The orc-host started shooting stones from catapults. They came off Nargothrond's facade like pebbles thrown by kids. They focused on the gate. The gate was solid metal and got dented much. No sign of yielding did it show however.

Inside the mountain, work went on. Soldiers off duty from battle were capable at other work, and that they did, preparing for eventualities. At dusk, when vision wasn't clear but fires didn't contrast, the balrogs came with the bridge from east.

Behind them, trolls could be seen pulling up wooden orc-bridges.

The bridge of Balrogs was a metal truss bridge, designed by none other than Mairon.

It was light to carry, quick to assemble and supported lots of weight.  
It was also made to measure, and would fit across the canyon, supported from just two points.

* * *

GATE to TC: APPROACHING

TC to OBS1:  
TC to OBS2: CAN YOU SIGHT THEM?

OBS1 to TC: HEAVY SMOKE SCREEN, CANNOT  
OBS2 to TC: PERHAPS WITH LUCKY WIND

TC to SUSP1: HAVE YOU CLEARED FOR SHOOTING?  
SUSP1 to TC: CLEAR, TARGET SIGHTED, WAITING.

GATE1 to TC: HALFWAY OVER.  
SUSP1 to TC: PERMISSION?

TC to SUSP: GRANTED  
TC to GATE: OPEN, DEFENSIVE FIRE, THEN CLOSE

Balrogs had set up tall masts to help installing the bridge.  
Two of them there were on both sides, and well over halfway was the bridge.

At that point, a hatch was pulled open upstream of the main gate in Nargothrond's facade, where a suspension bridge could be opened to the other side. From the hatch a bow-like catapult was seen, and instantly flew an anchor, rope trailing behind in coils.

The anchor line went over one of the masts, and quickly the elves braked its speed, starting to retract it like fisherman retracts his line. Quickly three more balrogs ran to the mast, to uphold it against the pull. Lines tensed and strained against each other, while angry balrogs waved their whips at anchor-line.

Balrogs had the advantage of great power, but mechanical disadvantage. Elves had the favour of a winch with multiple gears. Three times they switched gear downwards. Before their rope burnt through, with great grinding and strain, the mast came down, diving into the canyon. The great bridge wobbled.

Balrogs ran from rear and brought a new mast.  
A new shroud-line was hoisted from it and the bridge supported so.  
A new anchor went but missed, wasting expensive steel line now.  
The next one hit, and also came with steel line.

Again the pulling competition was entered, but this time, balrogs started hoisting a spare mast before the old had fallen. In the middle of the struggle however, silently the inner main gate had opened, leaving only an outer grid of iron bars.

From between the bars, multiple elf-crews aimed their cannon and lit their fuses. The blasts were deafening and the hits a surprise. Shooting with scrap metal, they instantly hit a group of three balrogs. The rest of fire-demons made an unhealthy effort and threw their bridge, over a distance of twenty more steps, with a massive crash right into Nargothrond's gate.

The bridge flexed and wobbled. Rocks tumbled from the ceiling.

GATE to TC: CLOSE?

TC to GATE: WE NEED THE MAIN GATE INTACT.  
TC to GATE: RELOAD, GET WATER READY - REINFORCEMENTS COME

TC to ARM: TWO HUNDRED IN BREATHING GEAR AND FULL ARMOR TO MAIN GATE

The elves who ran to fight the balrogs at the main gate, didn't look like elves.  
Only in dwarvish kingdoms were such armor and such helmets seen.  
No shields they bore. Of nimble elvish speed, not much remained.  
They were unnerved however.

The balrogs came climbing, bearing hammer and hook, steel cable clamp and fire-siphon.  
From pipes they blast great flame at the retreating gate-crew.  
It didn't penetrate well, however.

"They're pumping air outwards!"  
"Open it wider, try to reach deeper!"

The balrog tried.  
Nargothrond's fire crews answered with long jets of water.  
Clouds of steam filled the gate-hall and nothing could be seen.  
Fire floated on water, water still cooled the fire, nothing came of it for either.

Other balrogs connected hooks to the gate-grid and to the bridge.  
More hooks were passed up, with long cables in tow, and were passed back to the other side of the canyon.  
Then hammering started, while the proximity of the gate was aflame.

TC to GATE: SHUT THAT PARTY DOWN

GATE to TC: WAITING FOR MORE ARMOR

TC to GATE: FIRE AT THE GATE

GATE to TC: AT OUR OWN GATE?

TC to GATE: YES, WITH SHRAPNEL ONLY

"Cover! Cover!", yelled the artillery crews to others through the steam.

Then the blasts rang out and deadly metal rain bounced everywhere, wounding many defenders too.  
Two balrogs screamed and let go, tumbling down to depth.  
One screamed and started climbing back.

Three more were dispatched from the other side, while three worked on.  
Steam weakened for a moment, and the crews from armories drew near.

These elves knew no fun, for the first of them came with hand-cannons.  
Each bore a pipe as thick as two hands can fit fingers around.

Immediately they ran to the gate, uncaring of the balrog spewing flame on them.  
Shots rang, shells flew back from their recoilless weapons, while shot flew ahead.  
Before the three new balrogs reached the bridge-head, their comrades fell into the canyon.  
Whether they fell dead or alive, to live or die, didn't count any more.

The hand-cannon crews retreated, giving way to sappers. Already were the cables tensing on the gate, for the other side was deeming it wiser to pull the gate out of the mountainside from across the river. At that, sappers ran to their carts to fetch thermite, bound its canisters onto the cables and ignited them. Blinding flame burnt slowly.

"Pull faster!", Gothmog roared.  
"PULL!"  
"AAARG!"

The cable snapped, weakened by the charge burning through it. The pulling crew fell over to their backs.  
Then another.  
And the third.

"Push the bridge down," Gildor yelled through the noise, now at gate.  
"The other end is anchored!"  
"Sappers to the bridge!"

Now elvish sappers ran along the bridge, covered with arrow-fire from other side.  
Not all could do their work and keep their safety too - many fell the long fall.

GATE to TC: SAPPERS NEED COVER  
TC to OBS1:  
TC to OBS2: FIRE AT BRIDGEHEAD. FIRE SLOW. KEEP SOME ROCKETS, THERE ARE VERY FEW

The observation posts high up did what they were told. Blasts littered the other bank. One killed a balrog, others hurt countless orcs. Archers threw themselves onto ground, stopped firing and ran back. Sappers on the bridge had found their weak spots and fixed thermite there with magnets, lighting it, running back too. Bright it burnt, yet Mairon's work was hard to take apart. Many trusses weakned, but the bridge not even bent.

"Place more thermite! Try pulling sideways from the suspension bridge hatch," Gildor instructed the crews.

They placed more thermite.  
Anchors flew from sideways and winches were engaged.  
The bridge was not designed to carry sideways load. It bent!

Finally a rocket hit the other bridgehead squarely. When smoke cleared, the truss-bridge lay on top of the wounded balrogs, on top of the dead dragon, on top of the remains of the stone-bridge, in the canyon littered by smoking debris and a whole new dammed-up lake.

TC to GATE: CLOSE  
GATE to TC: CLOSING

Both sides licked their wounds. Instead of fifteen balrogs, nine were now on foot. Orcs had lost hundreds, but had thousands more to spare. Nargothrond's lower levels were flooded and healing halls full, with sixty soldiers dead. Rockets could be counted on one hand, thermite had run out. Untested cannon designs were dangerously out of shape, no longer fit to fire. What remained in some quantity were recoilless hand-cannons.

One was clear: no wooden bridge would cross this canyon and carry troops alive.

No other bridge there was.


	39. Tears unnumbered (final chapter)

Mairon ran down stairs. Running two kilometers down the stairs of Angband was nothing... but he had the uneasy feeling that he'd run back upwards soon. His body was breathless, but he ran regardless right to the great door.

He calmed and said the words to produce a wave of pressure, pushing the door open. The balrogs stepped aside without a word. Uncaring of formality, the high smith sprinted forward and didn't stop until he was at Melkor's throne.

"You called," he drew in breath, "the runner orc collapsed on me, having said his first words. After I got his heart restarted, he was not capable of telling what the business was."

"This is about Glaurung. He ran onto Nargothrond's bridge and it exploded, no worse than your factory here. Glaurung's dead. Finrod wields fire with an ease resembling yours. Go and stop this from escalating. I want Finrod put down. I want Nargothrond off the maps! Waste no second, a great elvish army has come down from mountains, out of nowhere. As we talk, it goes to break the siege. I want none of them to return where they came from!"

"You want too much. Some of it you'll get, however."

Orcs jumped up walls, dived down on ground and into crevices as the fireball flew past them though the corridors. Finally it came above ground and rose into the night sky, curving south, leaving at nearly a thousand kilometers per hour.

* * *

OBS1 to TC: TURGON APPROACHES

TC to SUSP1:  
TC to SUSP2: START CROSSING

In the dead of night, anchor-lines flew across the canyon. Some came loose, some stuck. Elves slid along the lines with wheeled rope, and fixed the line-ends firmly. Next came baskets carrying many warriors on each round. Downhill they slid to the other riverside, uphill they were pulled back. Again the process repeated, but then an orcish watcher caught a glimpse. He blew his horn before he could be silenced.

Behind enemy lines, in darkness, Nargothrond's soldiers fought like ordinary elves. Daggers flashed for moments, darkened soon, kicks and thumps were heard as bodies fell to depth. Already someone had ground enough to draw a sword. Back far away, other horn-blows echoed. Gondolin had started its attack from north. For a moment, confusion ruled the ground. More could pass the gap. Then came a balrog, running, and threw its whip around the northernmost suspension bridge, pulling with both hands.

The bridge came loose - with the next basket of warriors only halfway over. In an instant, they made their calculations of life, death and injury. Instead of falling back against Nargothrond's wall of rock, all preferred to jump and take their chance. So they did and for the moment, none knew what their fate was.

New anchor-lines were shot. The balrog whipped in frenzy at the other rope. A single bang was heard, and from the main gate, a thin wisp flew across. Explosion burst around the fire-demon. It fell, whip still coiled around the bridge. The bridge burnt through an fell down into Narog.

Still new anchors flew across. With nobody to take them down, more elves crossed the gap, running northward along a rocky path at half the canyon's height, while orcs above tried pelting them with everything at hand.

* * *

Glorfindel was on the leftmost flank of Turgon's army, away from the river, in the east against the mountains. His force was backed by those of Ecthelion and Galdor. Turgon fought at center, to have a better overview. Rog was likewise there. Penlod and Duilin were downhill, pressed against the river.

It was foreseeable that balrogs would come this way. When they rose of smoke before the warriors of the Golden Flower, the foreseeable was terrifying, still. It became a deadly mess. Crossbow-shooters were dispersed. Somewhere in the darkness they sought cover to reload. Orcs flooded them and everyone engaged, while balrogs ran around, often bringing down multiple opponents with a single blow.

The balrog who came at Glorfindel's team (what remained of Glorfindel's team - the first rule of night-time war was loss of situational awareness) was wounded, but not a bit less determined.

Five of them opposed it. Soon they numbered two. Then Elemmakil lost his sword - his sword shattered together with the balrog's sword. Still he didn't run, but picked a spear from ground. At that moment, Glorfindel managed to cut the balrog's whip. It tried to kick him, but he dodged. It came running at him, but he jumped aside, striking a wound. The balrog picked an elvish pike from ground and whirred it vigorously, keeping him at distance. One of Galdor's men rewound their bow and shot it in the back, to no effect. As the balrog ran after the crossbowman, Glorfindel ran after the balrog.

By the time he reached them, the crossbowman was beyond saving, pinned with the pike to ground. Using the moment, he struck the balrog in its leg with all the force he had. The sword went through. The balrog roared and turned, forcing the sword of Finarfin from his hands.

Glorfindel ran away from the staggering and howling balrog, pulled his dagger and and looked around in darkness. Their chase had lead him up the foothills, nearly out of the valley. Fighting had spread far. On all the eastern bank of Narog between the mountains and the river, soldiers clashed. Nargothrond loomed quiet in the west, not firing, but obviously undefeated.

For a moment he looked up. Something to the right drew his attention. He looked north and saw a light. He stayed looking and the light came closer, illuminating clouds, traveling at great speed. It came straight at Nargothrond.

Glorfindel knew too many stories of this light appearing during battle. All these battles were lost. He reached for his signal-horn, but the instrument had gone missing. He looked around for fallen people, searching for a horn. Finally he found an orc-man with a horn. The light above was already circling, taking stock of the situation.

Thinking of their inventory of signals, he first blew the call-sign "Golden Flower". Then he blew "warning", "retreat", "observe" and "upwards". Then he ignored his own warning and ran downhill where Galdor and Ecthelion might be.

"Glorfindel calls retreat, warning, watch the sky" Penlod shouted over the noise.  
"What is this?", Duilin pointed upwards at the circling light.  
"Nothing that I care to meet," the old healer shouted back.  
"Retreat upstream?"  
"Agreed!"

* * *

OBS1 to TC: STRANGE LIGHT CIRCLING HIGH  
OBS2 to TC: DOES GONDOLIN HAVE ANYTHING THAT FLIES?

TC to OBS1: DESCRIBE  
TC to OBS2: NO. CONSIDER ENEMY. DESCRIBE.

OBS1 to TC: VERY BRIGHT, CIRCULAR, BLUISH, SEEMS TO LEAVE A TRACK. CIRCLING.  
TC to OBS1: SEND THE ROCKETS DOWN FOR RE-ARMING.

TC to OBS2: DO YOU STILL HAVE ROCKETS?  
OBS2 to TC: NO

TC to OBS2: ARM WILL SEND YOU CANNON. REPORT OF ANYTHING.

TC to ARM: OBS1 WILL SEND YOU ROCKETS.  
INSTALL ONE SECOND FUSES, SHRAPNEL CHARGE. SEND BACK TO OBS1.  
SEND REMAINING CANNON TO OBS2.  
SOMEONE WITH HAND-CANNON TO OBS1.

OBS1 to TC: TAKES A DIVE AT TURGON.  
TRAIL INCREASED, HEAVY MIST TRAIL.

OBS2 to TC: TURGON BLOWS RETREAT.  
IT CIRCLES THE WHOLE FIELD.  
WHOLE FIELD COVERED IN MIST.

TC to VENT: SHUT DOWN VENTILATION, CONFIRM!  
VENT to TC: BELLOWS SHUT DOWN.

TC to VENT: SEAL ALL INWARD AND OUTWARD VENTS. CONFIRM.  
VENT to TC: SEALING. THIS TAKES TIME. CARE TO EXPLAIN?

TC to VENT: SUSPECT POISON. SHUT YOUR DOORS TOO.  
DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE REOPEN UNLESS I PERSONALLY SHOW UP.  
I REPEAT, YOU NOW IGNORE ALL TELEGRAPHED COMMANDS.  
I WILL PERSONALLY EXPLAIN LATER, IF I MAKE IT.  
FINROD.

TC to SUSP1, SUSP2: CLOSE HATCHES, CUT THE BRIDGES, GET TO ARMORIES.

TC to GATE: ARE YOU CLOSED DOWN PROPERLY? IF NOT, CLOSE DOWN, HEAD TO ARMORIES.

TC to OBS1: GET DOWN FROM THERE AND CLOSE THE DOORS. HEAD TO ARMORIES.  
TC to OBS2: GET DOWN AND LOCK THE DOORS BEHIND YOU. MEET AT ARMORIES.

GATE to TC: SOMETHING VERY BRIGHT FLEW THROUGH THE CANYON. MIST OBSERVED.

TC to GATE: FINROD LEFT FOR ARMORIES, RE-ROUTING. IS ALL SEALED AND SHUT?  
GATE to TC: ALL SEALED SHUT. AIRFLOW STOPPED THOUGH.

TC to GATE: VENT SHUT DOWN ON FINROD'S ORDERS.  
WHY ARE YOU THERE?  
GO TO ARMORIES!  
YOU WILL BE RE-EQUIPPED.

GATE to TC: AYE

TC to HEAL: SEND THREE EXPERTS TO ARMORIES

* * *

When a somewhat burnt Glorfindel had showed up, he had literally elbowed his way between Galdor and the orc, killed the orc in one strike and yelled to Galdor "blow retreat up hill", running off towards Ecthelion's unit. This was not characteristic behaviour, but not something to ignore. Galdor had noticed the effect in the sky also, and took the advise without delay.

By the time he'd reached halfway to Ecthelion, the fireball had completed its dive at Turgon. He understood the meaning of its trail. Mairon had come alone, but never empty-handed. Reconsidering fast, Glorfindel decided that he'd be useful alive, turned back, ran uphill, soaked his scarf in wine and bound it like an improvised face-mask to cover his mouth and nose. His long talk with Luthien about vampires and poisons at the pools of Ivrin, and the impression of Finrod's guards wearing enclosed helmets came to his mind now.

Soon he felt the itch in his eyes and started seeing fairy dust everywhere.

When he reached Galdor's rear guard, he was nearly blind and in great pain. It was easier to follow them by hearing rather than by sight. Some of them were coughing and wheezing. He observed that he wasn't and mentioned what his face-mask was.

"Galdor? Show me to Galdor, my eyes are damaged, I cannot find him!"  
"Come," the lieutenant said in a broken voice, pulling his hand.  
Galdor was coughing too, though not as severely.

"Glorfindel, I thought you got caught down there!"  
"I did and lost my sight, I see colored patterns where you are. I don't cough, however. My scarf is soaked with wine. Can you think of a call to communicate that downhill?"

Galdor suggested "wine, rain, air" and handed Glorfindel his horn, running to get wine, now coughing heavily.

* * *

When the re-equipped observation crews reached their posts in filtered breathing gear, the field below had changed beyond recognition.

Battle was over.

Sounds of hurt and death did reach the mountainside, but none were fighting. Orcs lay among elves, convulsing, throwing up, shaking, dying. Elves coughed like there was no tomorrow, blinded, losing control of their lungs.

Tuor... wasn't hit. Thuringwethil's substance didn't attack humans.

In fact, he was the only one who stood in Turgon's company, when he heard the horn-call from hills in the east, repeated thrice. Everyone else looked like they would die in minutes. Interpreting the horn-call in panic, he did the same as Glorfindel had done, and tried to assist his comrades, running back and forth, wondering why he was spared. He tried to resuscitate who stopped breathing, tried to make more face masks to filter their breath. He tried... but what can one man try?

"Tell Aredhel. Evacuate to Sirion..." were Turgon's last words.

"There will be vengeance," muttered Rog through fits of cough and lay down again to rest. Knowing what poisonous gas can do, the miner-elf had fallen like a stone, closed his eyes and held his breath for minutes in a strange trance.

* * *

When Mairon landed at the observation post and sought to enter, three elves looking like miners from Angband's sulfur pits shot him point blank from hand-cannons.

Hurt and angered, he collided with them, leaving molten metal and ashes, unaware that something of his was broken.

The stone door was barred, though, and he felt its thickness. Breaking in here was slow. Then he looked at the battery of the emptied rocket launcher and instead of going elswhere, hovered for a while, studying the crude device and the circuit it was connected to.

Time was short, however.

He went for the nearest ventilation shaft and felt the air. Stopped.

He sought another shaft, but that was dead too. And the third!

He curved back and dove towards the main gate when the fireball arose in front of him, precisely timed. He went through it, made the metal burst and faced Finrod with ten guards, all of them looking like they had a trip scheduled to the outer void, pointing hand-cannons at him, while obscene quantities of water rained from above. Then he realized the final bottle of poison, meant for Nargothrond, had been lost in the previous cannon blast.

Finrod's thoughts hit Mairon's like quick-paced hammer-strike. He parried.

He didn't understand their meaning, though. The vision of himself saying something to Melkor and Angband exploding, it was strange. They strove in thought and Mairon felt it all repeat again. Tol Sirion and night, waves and wind and rock ignoring his command. This was the heart of Finrod's realm, he couldn't bring the elf on knees with words here. Mairon had the right form, however. Nothing would harm him, unless... unless the mountain crumbled on their heads...

"...you wont!"

"Trust me I will," Finrod said, pointing hand-cannon at the ceiling. His guards mirrored the action, "I understand you haven't got more poison. Killing us will be a perilous, arduous task. The mountain has enough mass to bury us all and extinguish you. Perhaps you want to leave us for today. I will be sailing downstream soon."

"Don't worry, elf, you have much fire-power here. I have a question, though. Why did you make it your business? Why did you bother to build this all? You knew it would fall down, did you not?"

"Why do *you* care? Don't say you don't - I know a lie from truth. Why do you care to fight, creature in need of none? Why do you care about my reasons? What is yours to gain? Do you need revenge? Then welcome to the club. Why haven't you had it already? I am puzzled. Why?"

"I got carried away. There is no way back, simple as that."

"That's a poor excuse. I also did that, however - we have that in common. My work is done now. Nargothrond has risen, fought and fallen. Go home to Angband and get your well-earned praise. And remember, never say these words to him. Never. Nothing else I can command you to do, but this I shall."

"What do they mean?"

"I won't be telling you. You liked puzzles back a long time ago. Go find your friend Thuringwethil and tell her to stop inventing such poisons. It killed the balrogs and I have a sample now. Wouldn't like it happening at Angband, would we? If you don't care, she might."

"She's dead."

"That's where you are mistaken. I think your master forgot to tell you a few details."

* * *

"Tears unnumbered shall you shed. And he was right."

They came from Nargothrond as fast as obstacles allowed.

Tuor ran to meet them, and they looked at him in puzzlement.

On the field of everyone dead, an unprotected man was running.

Soon it was apparent that not entirely everyone was dead. Remedies did exist and some had found them accidentally, covering their airways with wine-moist rags.

Some had outwaited the lethal dose, falling into trance, not breathing. Some had fled up hills or up the river. The overall picture wasn't changed by that. Within five miles, you couldn't look anywhere without seeing scores of dead people, and within ten miles, you couldn't breathe without feeling the smell.

Then the dam formed by the dragon's body broke, and Narog released a flood-wave. Villages downstream would know this threatened them, for never does a river dry up quickly without water gathering... but what this water carried... most likely, fish in all the river down to Sirion would die.

* * *

When medicines ran out, Finrod called a vote of who would go and who would try to stay.

The vote came down so heavily in favour of going, that those planning to stay changed their opinion.

Nargothrond's surroundings were burnt by the orc-host, the river was harmed beyond repair in decades by the incident with the dragon, and soil held poison for years. This place would not sustain a settlement - and if it did, that settlement would harm its population's health and sanity.

They used a system of winches to help out horses and lift out materials for wagons, helped the remains of Gondolin's army assemble these and helped get their wounded loaded.

Gondolin's wagon train headed for Doriath. Thingol wouldn't let them enter, but would be quick to offer assistance on his doorstep.

The few dwarves of Nargothrond headed upstream towards Ered Wethrin. Humans set out for Brethil. Elves of Nargothrond dispersed, the Nandor spreading through forest while the Sindar gradually seeped to Doriath and took up living there. Noldorin and Telerin people made boats and barges and went downstream along the polluted river, to meet their kin at the sea-shore and ask for shelter. Finrod also went.

* * *

Luthien found Finrod one year later at the mouth of Sirion.

The elf-king now walked without armor, though the hand-cannon was among his wares on the dock-side. When she found him, he had finished another day of working on his boat. The boat was unconventional, to say the least. Two great pipes of strange and light material, covered in fabric and hard resin, joined by wooden trusses by a moving metal gear-link, with a cabin freely pivoting along their axis in the middle.

"You plan to sail soon."  
"If we call it sailing, I plan to sail this week. You came in time, Luthien."

"Why such a strange design?"  
"I'm using wave power in addition to the tiny sail, and this boat can safely capsize, the cabin will just flip."

"I see you haven't abandoned your habit of confusing people."  
"No, and I don't plan to. Is Beren alright?"

"He is, but his health is poor. He travels less these days."  
"I hope he will make a good recovery in years."

"I wanted to say how sorry I was to have started these events."

"You shouldn't need to. Events have a way of starting themselves, and you didn't really start them. Somehow the world got started, we are part of this, and you didn't do anything particularly wrong or unjust. Nothing that you did approached the scale of my mis-judgements. I thought I was going to outlast this and perhaps save my city."

"You fell, but the enemy fell with you. He won't have the power to re-conquer us for centuries."  
"He will recover, though, and will re-conquer."

"I think my eyes won't see it. Perhaps my father will meet his forces again then. Perhaps your sister will."  
"Perhaps we'll meet on the other side?"

"I'm afraid not. I'll be going with Beren."

There were tears in the elf-king's eyes. They rolled down slowly and dropped off his cheeks to sand.

"Please be well wherever you go."  
"Please be also. I hope they accept you back."

His expression changed. He wiped the tears away.

"As for that, I don't care at all. If the Valar forbid my entry, I intend to camp offshore, change my menu and start catching fish, grow plants on islets and my boat, and generally squat in sea like the Teleri already do. If that comes to pass, I also intend to shoot two messages ashore with this," he patted the hand-cannon. "One to tell the Valar to go fuck themselves, and the other providing Amarie with information about my whereabouts. If she still cares to talk, we can do that in many ways without me violating the ban."

"Please don't be angry at them. They didn't start it either."

"I know."

They hugged, and talked until the day was done, then Luthien rode with her guards to meet Cirdan, and then back to Doriath.

* * *

-= one year back in time =-

In yet another temporary fake form, he walked before Morgoth.

Yes, why not call him Morgoth, when most did call him that way.

"Mairon."  
"Pardon, but I am called Sauron."

"What happened?"

"I killed them all. Poison is better than bare hands, so I took along the worst I could take. Still I couldn't get to Finrod. He lives, but is leaving these lands. In total I killed ten thousand elves, twenty thousand orcs and the remainder of your balrogs. Nargothrond is abandoned, as you requested. Gondolin is discovered, but I won't care to tell its location. I came to say that you'll release me from your service. Goodbye."

Melkor considered trying to subdue him, but was rebuffed with an image of an antimatter explosion ripping Angband apart.

Mairon, now considering himself Sauron, walked from the halls he had built and didn't look nor come back.

He'd search in vain for Thuringwethil and dwell alone until the Valar came with war. At first he'd fight along the dragons, more of habit than of loyalty... but then he would desert and fight for no one. Asking for pardon from Eönwe would prove fruitless. He would never submit himself to any master's will again, until the end of time, whatever was the cost.

-= The end =-

* * *

P.S. Out of curiosity, I would be interested in learning what you thought of this story. There is nothing more that can be altered, so now's the perfect time to ask. :)


End file.
